


The Deep & Dying Breath of You

by TheBashfulPoet



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AFTG Reverse Big Bang 2019, Alternate Universe - Firewatch Fusion, Boys In Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pining, Sassy Neil Josten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-07 00:57:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18227762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBashfulPoet/pseuds/TheBashfulPoet
Summary: When he sees the ad, Andrew decides that he has nothing better to do so he might as well spend the summer in isolation. He thought it would be almost peaceful, no nagging boss or coworkers that don't understand personal space, just him his typewriter and miles of forest he was expected to keep from burning down. What he doesn't expect is the surly voice that floats over the radio and turns his world upside down. He doesn't expect to find himself waiting for another kind of fire instead (one that just may eat him alive if he's not careful).





	The Deep & Dying Breath of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neyu/gifts).



> Listen, when I saw this prompt for Andreil I just _had_ to do it! This story hit me so hard I had to contain my giddy glee in the middle of class (my friend next to me noticed and was equally giddy when I explained it to her). I went out and bought the game just so I could really get an idea of how I wanted to fold the canon in with AFTG and I hope I did it some semblance of justice.
> 
> Of course this fic would not be without [Neyu's](http://requiemofkings.tumblr.com/) beautiful art that you can check out on her [tumblr](http://requiemofkings.tumblr.com/post/183309786175/ahhhh-hello-im-here-with-a-firewatch-au-with-the)! I cannot tell you what an honor it was working with her not only as an artist that really got me into the fandom but just as a lovely person in general!
> 
> I would also like to thank my beta and friend [Lirinchi](http://lirinchi.tumblr.com/) who always saves my stories from being the mess they start out as.
> 
> Without further adieu, please enjoy the fic!

            When he sees the ad, Andrew decides that he has nothing better to do so he might as well spend the summer in isolation. His life in the past year already fit that description anyways with his only family and “friends” scattered across the globe: Aaron and his whore off at some medical school halfway across the damn continent; Nicky across the fucking ocean; and Renee gallivanting around third-world countries pretending to be the next Saint Teresa. The only ones around anymore are Kevin, who is safely tucked away on a pro-Exy team a state over, and Bee still at PSU (and only a phone call away if needed).

As for himself, after college Andrew drifted, no promises keeping him tethered down nor people left in need of protecting. For the first time in a long time, he was truly alone. Kevin tried recruiting him to his team after Andrew’s last year at PSU, but five miserable years of Exy was enough for a lifetime in Andrew's book. Besides, the look on Kevin’s face when Andrew told him no was almost as satisfying as the first time he did so all those years back (when the matching pair to his “2” stood by his side with an equally annoyed expression). Instead, he worked a handful of mediocre jobs that filled the time — most not lasting over a few months either due to the temporary nature of the position or his inability to deal with coworkers and bosses that didn’t understand the concept of personal space. Bee thinks it’s a manifestation of his commitment issues (and she’s probably right) but he’s firmly in the camp that he shouldn’t have to deal with idiots for longer than he needs to. Thus the appeal to this latest venture.

            Truthfully, the ad doesn’t have much information — nothing more than a tiny column in the Sunday newspaper (that for some reason still gets delivered to his doorstep despite having cancelled the subscription years ago) advertising an open spot as a firewatcher at the Shoshone National Forest in Wyoming for the summer. The pay was average and all he would need to do is sit in a tower and watch out for fires. In Andrew’s eyes, it promised no idiots, no annoying phone calls from Kevin bemoaning his “wasted talent” nor his cousin’s “attempts” to stay connected (read annoy him with idiotic details about his life he could care less about) or Bee's hints at finding some thing"meaningful" in life. It meant not coming home to an empty house every night after a meaningless day. So yes, he called the number and applied without a second thought. Truth be told, he didn’t think much on it after until a few days later he got a call back offering him the position and he accepted it.

            Once he filled out the appropriate paperwork and sent it back, he began the laborious process of packing up the things he would need for a few months in the woods and prepping the house for his departure. Bee offered to check on the place every few weeks to ward off any robbers looking to ransack the place in his absence and water whatever plants he has lying around that _somehow_ didn’t die (he has a suspicion that some are fake but doesn't care enough to decipher them apart so he waters them all). Well, she agreed albeit reluctantly and with  _the_ look of disappointment. The same look she gives him whenever he did something she disproves of but wouldn’t stop him from doing (because ultimately it was his decision to make and she was only voicing her thoughts on the matter, Andrew. Take that as you will). Yet along with the look came a present — a typewriter and a suggestion that he try something new with his newfound downtime.

            “You always liked reading stories, why don’t you try your hand at writing one? Who knows, you might find yourself struck by inspiration out in the wilderness with all those trees.”

            Andrew scoffed but packed the typewriter all the same. He doubted that “inspiration” would be found in a bunch of tall twigs likely to burn, but the hopeful smile on Bee’s lips had him holding his tongue for once.

            If he believed in regret, he would admit that maybe Bee had a point about the job and the lack of any real research he did on it. Because if he had known accepting the job meant leaving his precious GS parked in the middle of nowhere on some sketchy parking lot (thankfully he always kept a car cover in the trunk) and having to hike nearly 30 miles on an overgrown trail with a 20 pound backpack, maybe — _maybe_ — he would have reconsidered the position. But he didn’t and thus had to do all of the above if he wanted to sleep with a bed under him and walls at his back. The map sent to him came with instructions to camp for a night if needed, but he drove in the dead of night to as to start at first light, not wanting to spend the night unprotected.

            Of course, that just meant when he finally _does_ arrive at his destination, it’s pitch black and he’s exhausted beyond belief. Oh, and did he mention that his abode is 40 feet off the fucking ground?

            Andrew glares at the rickety steps leading up to the tower and debates if a bed is really worth his possible death. A look at the rocky ground beneath his hiking boots says it is. Cursing his decisions in life not for the first time since this venture began (and what Andrew _knows_ will be a smug Bee when she hears about this), he begins his ascent. It takes longer than Andrew is willing to admit — the height and creak of the boards slowing his process immensely — but finally, he reaches the wide glass windows and the single door leading in and out of the room. He wipes at the glass and looks through the window next to the stairs, taking note of how it appeared to be a wide-open space with only the necessities for living. Shining a light in from this phone, he sees a twin bed squished into the corner opposite of the door, a kitchenette on the wall opposite of the bed’s foot, a desk pressed up against the wall beneath his window and a large circular table commanding the center of the room with what looks like to be a map resting on it. He also notices various boxes stacked around the room and sitting on surfaces. By his count, everything seemed to arrive on time.

            Not reading anything about a key in his welcome packet, Andrew tries the door handle and grimaces when it opens under his palm — confirming his suspicions that the tower didn’t lock. Pushing open the door and stepping inside, he searches for the light switch and flicks it on. The room floods with fluorescent lighting, which causes his eyes to blink away the invading black dots at the sudden shift.

            He closes the door with the heel of his boot and drops his backpack on the floor in front of him, his shoulders sagging in relief at the lack of weight. A hiss escapes his lips at the same time and he rubs the muscles in hopes of relieving the tension built up in them. Rolling them out a couple of times until they are pliant (or as pliant as they’re going to get), Andrew turns back to the door and discovers that the door has the capability of locking, but the mechanism had been busted what seems to be years prior and no one cared enough to replace it. Luckily, he thought something like this might occur and had the foresight to pack a spare lock but didn’t think far enough to pack it in his backpack rather than in one of the many unmarked boxes lying scattered across the room.  He decides that was a problem for tomorrow’s Andrew.

            _This_ Andrew bends down for his pack and starts hunting for the sheets he bought. Just as he yanks them free, the bag knocks into his legs causing him to stumble and bump into the desk at his side. The movement sends something tumbling for the floor and results in a loud thud. Deciding he should probably make sure it wasn’t anything _too_ important, he tosses the sheets in the general direction of the bed and bends down to investigate the source of the noise. On the ground, he finds a walkie talkie, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand but sturdy enough to survive a few nasty falls. He picks it up and moves to set it down on the charging station he must have knocked it from before turning back to the bed and sheets. As he turns, something taped to one of the windows catches his eyes.

           Upon further inspection, he recognizes it as a letter, one handwritten in a messy but legible scribble. Curious despite his growing exhaustion, Andrew ambles over to see what it says. It read:

_To whomever this is,_

_Hope the hike out wasn’t too awful. Don’t worry too much about it if it was, you’ll be better after a couple of days (and trust me you’ll sleep that long anyway)._

_Anywho, just wanted to give you a heads up about your watch. This section of the forest is pretty empty in comparisons to the others but watch out for the trails. Some have gotten quite overgrown and the ropes are starting to fray._

_OH! And don’t mind the grumpy supervisor on the radio. His name is Neil. He’s stationed at the tower just north of here (look out the window and you should be able to see the tower). He can get a bit surly when annoyed (or doesn’t get his tea in the morning) but it’s all part of his charm so don’t let it scare you off. No matter how hard he may try to get you to do so._

_Welcome to the job!_

_M B – W._

_PS Mistreat my son Neil and I will have words with you._

            Andrew looks past the note and out the window to the stretching darkness beyond the glass. He thinks he sees a speck of light miles away but his eyes are too tired for him to trust them. Crumbling the notes, he turns away from the window in favor of setting up the bed. It only takes a moment for him to rip the packaging apart and stretch the material across the lumpy mattress. He’s about to shuck his clothes for the night and crawl under the covers when the radio cracks to life at the desk.

            “Hello?” a voice calls through the device. “Two Forks Tower? This is Thorofare Tower calling in, do you copy?”

            Andrew glares at the radio, willing it to shut up since he has no intentions of talking to anyone right now. Unfortunately, whoever is on the other side doesn’t seem to get the memo.

            “Uh hello? This is Neil Josten, your, uh, supervisor for the next few months. I just wanted to check in and touch base on your hike in. I saw the lights on and figured you must have made it in.”

            _Awful, now shut up_ , Andrew thinks to himself but makes no move to convey that through the radio. There is silence for a beat or two before the radio breaks the silence once more, this time the voice — _Neil’s_ voice apparently — sounding more annoyed.

            “Look I know you’re there. I can see the lights on for god’s sake.”

            Andrew walks over to the light switch and flicks them off.

            “Oh real fucking mature.”

            Andrew thinks someone is losing their patience. Maybe now he will leave him alone.

            “You know what? Fine. Don’t answer. I was just going to offer you some advice on not freezing your ass off in the night, but enjoy the cold asshole.”

            Hmm, well that did not sound ideal. Normally, Andrew wouldn’t crack under such a weak threat, but if there was one thing he hated more than the prospect of talking to someone right now it was the thought of freezing in this fucking tower because he was too stubborn. Begrudgingly he walks over to the desk and picks up the radio and answers.

            “What.”

            “Oh, so he speaks.” He can hear the sneer through the radio’s distortion.

            “Not for much longer if you don’t lose the snark.”

            “And why should I? Because you’re the picture perfect example of civility right now? You didn’t even introduce yourself.”

            Andrew kicks off his boots and leans against the wooden top. “I assume you already know my name seeing how you’re apparently the supervisor. Shouldn’t you know your employees’ names by heart?”

            “And yet the polite thing would be to offer it regardless.”

            “Never said I was polite.” He fiddles with the bands strapped on his arms and the hidden knives they carry. Until he can fix the lock, he doesn’t think he’ll be comfortable enough to remove them for bed.

            “Yeah, I’m beginning to see that now. Asshole definitely seems like the accurate term after all.”

            Andrew hums, “So I’ve been told. Now tell me what you called to say and then you leave me the fuck alone so I can sleep.”

            Neil pauses on the other end, but, just before the radio cuts, Andrew thinks he hears a flurry of curses in the receiver. Only he didn’t quite recognize any of the words and picked up hints of what might have been a couple different languages. Seems his new boss was quite the polyglot. How interesting.

            When Neil does cut back in, his voice drips with barely kept anger. “No, I don’t think I will. Have a nice night freezing, _Andrew_.”

            The line goes dead with an audible click and Andrew wonders if maybe pissing off his boss in the first 24 hours of a new job was his smartest idea. Too bad his eyelids are too heavy for him to care. He drops the radio back into its cradle and walks over to the bed, flopping down on it and curling under the covers. At least this way if he’s cold, he would have more layers to help.

            It only sort of works.

 

* * *

 

            Andrew does not wake until much later on the second day. Sunlight blares into his eyes from all directions and the thin blanket draped over his body does nothing to shield him from the unrelenting rays. After fighting the inevitable for about an hour, he gives up and drags himself out of bed to hunt down the coffee pot he packed away. 15 minutes later, he’s sitting at the desk with a fresh mug of steaming coffee (and with enough sugar and cream to turn it milky caramel) in his hands and staring at the stack of boxes like they will start unpacking themselves. They don’t. He just about figures out a plan of attack to unbury himself from boxes when the radio cracks to life at his elbow.

            “Oh good, you’re finally awake. Are you still an asshole or did your beauty sleep fix that?”

            Andrew looks at his still full cup of coffee and then back to the radio before he decides it’s too early for a certain pesky boss (even if it’s almost two in the afternoon). The snarky asshole can wait until he is done. He makes it through half the mug before the pest interrupts again.

            “So we're back to this game are we?”

            Andrew deigns him with an answer if only to shut him up before he can go on another rant. “Pests should be quiet before morning coffee.” He punctuates this with a large slurp.

            “It’s the afternoon. Morning coffee is officially over.”

            “And yet here I am.” Another slurp.

            He’s rewarded with more interesting curses. “You’re a right bastard, you know that? I swear I should just-”

            “Shh, what did I say about pests, hmm?”

            Oh, German, he knew that one. It seems that Neil could be quite colorful with his words; he’d have to tuck that particular phrase away for the next time Nicky bugged him with one of his calls.

            “Look, you surly bastard-”

            “That’s rich coming from one someone who came with a warning note about _their_ surliness.”

            “What?” Genuine confusion colors Neil’s tone as he fumbles over his words. “I don’t… what are you… _what?_ ”

            Andrew hums, taking his time in answering as he drains the last of his cup and revels in Neil’s growing agitation the longer he waits. “Someone — the last watch I’m guessing — taped a note to one of the windows warning me of the ‘Surly Neil’ over in the next tower. Said it was all a part of your charm. I’m beginning to wonder if they might have been a little touched in the head.”

            A grumble of curses (though surprisingly this time in English) fill the receiver. Andrew picks out what he thinks is a “god damn it, Matt” before Neil’s voice filters back in. “He shouldn’t have left that.”

            “What and leave me unprepared for a _surly_ boss?” Andrew scoffs, “Better to know what I’m in for off the bat. Same goes for you.”

            “I have been nothing but civil and polite since I called-” Andrew snorted, “Until _you_ started being an asshole.”

            “Badgering a person while they’re dead tired after a 30-mile hike is considered polite?”

            “I was checking in on you to make sure nothing went wrong during your trip. Not to mention I tried to offer you some advice on avoiding a cold night!”

            “And yet I was cold.”

            “ _And whose fault is that?_ ” Neil bites out, seconds away from screaming at Andrew. (He almost wishes he would just to hear more of those inventive curses.) Before Andrew can open his mouth in hopes of antagonizing him further, Neil takes a deep breath and continues talking — that anger tempered only slightly.

            “Look, I’m just trying to do _my_ job here. And right now that’s telling you how to do _your_ job. Once we get through that, you can go fuck off and be the hermit you so clearly desire to be and I can wash my fucking hands of this entire mess.”

            Normally, Andrew would jump at the prospect of being left alone — seeing as how it was the reason he came out here in the _first_ place — but he’d be lying if he said the Neil hadn’t sparked some small flicker of interest in him with that sharp tongue and unwillingness to bend. It’s been a long time since anything had captured his interest for more than a moment and Neil’s been able to keep it for a day. Perhaps it’s worth playing along for the time being — at least until it fades like all the rest.

            “Do you promise?” Andrew mocks.

            Neil growls, “I promise that if you don’t – _Shit!_ ”

            His eyebrows shoot up at the curse, mostly since his behavior isn’t the cause. Before he can make a dry remark pointing out as much, a loud pop and bang fill the air and he spins around to see twin burst of fireworks dying in the air. Neil curses again and this time Andrew agrees with the sentiment.

            “Are those fucking fireworks?” Neil asks incredulously. “Tell me those aren’t fucking _fireworks_. In a _forest_. _In the middle of fucking fire season_.”

            Andrew peers closer out the window; from his judgment, they came from only a couple miles out. “Yup.”

            Ah, those colorful curses were back.

            “ _There are signs!_ Big ones that read don’t light a _fucking fire_ , dipshit because it’s fire season!”

            “And yet here we are,” Andrew drawls. “What are you going to do about it?”

            “Me? Oh no, what are _you_ going to do about it.”

            Andrew didn’t like the smug tone that edged its way into Neil’s voice. “No.”

            No fucking way was he dealing with idiots today. Well, any _more_ idiots today.

            “Oh yes. Welcome to your first assignment: go find the morons lighting fireworks and stop them before they burn down the entire park.”

            “And _I_  have to be the one to do it because…?”

            “What you want me to list the reasons for you? Okay, how about the first being that it’s your fucking job and the second being that I’m your boss and I'm telling you to do it because _it’s your fucking job_. Take your pick.”

            Andrew scowls at the radio. Exhaustion still weighs heavily on his shoulders and he feels a dull throb just waiting to turn into a headache between his brows. No, he very much would not like to deal with some morons that thought lighting fireworks in the middle of May was a great idea (and like Neil said, _in a fucking forest_ ). In fact, he much rather climb back in bed for another two days. Another firework goes off and something tells him the second wasn’t happening until the first got done.

            “ _Now_ Andrew. Every time they light another one the risk that we’ll have a fire increases. If you think the job is a lot of work now, just wait until we have a forest fire on our hands.”

            “Fine, I’ll deal with these idiots. But after that, I’m going back to sleep with _no_ interruptions.”

            “Are you seriously bargaining with me right now? Over doing your job?” Neil scoffs.

            Andrew ignores him. “Deal or not?”

            A long pause. “You know what, fine. Hunt these people down, confiscate the fireworks and whatever other contraband they have and report back in once you’re done and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the day. Hell, I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the summer.”

            “Great.” Andrew sets down his mug and stands up. “Now how do I find these idiots?”

            “You see that large circular table in the middle of the room?” Andrew grunts his agreement as he angles his neck to look at the aforementioned object. “That’s a map of the entire area you’re responsible for this summer. There should be a replica of your tower sitting on it marking your current location. Underneath in the drawer should be a map you can take with you in your pack as well as a compass for navigating.”

            Some rustling fills the speaker followed by what Andrew thinks is a door opening. “By my calculations, it looks like those fireworks are coming from Jonsey Lake about two mile west. If you just start following the trail towards the lake, you’ll find them in no time.”

            “And when I do?” He starts gathering his things together, leaving the map but pocketing the compass.

            “Yell at them, kick them out of the park, I don’t know and I really don’t care. Just get those fireworks.”

            Andrew hefts on his pack. “So what, I’m just supposed to hike until I _maybe_ find these people.”

            That sounded like an awful plan, not to mention a lot of work.

            “Yup!” He pops the “p” and Andrew hates him for it.

            “Great.”

            “Oh, and Andrew?” He could practically hear the smug smile. “You might want to pack some rope from the emergency storage bin on the way there. I think Matt said something about having to climb and rappel on that trail. Hope you don’t mind heights.”

            Somewhere somehow Bee was laughing at him. He really should have read the fucking job description better.

 

* * *

 

            Andrew fucking hated people. He hated hiking and he hated this godforsaken job. The sun is low in the sky by the time he makes it back to the watchtower and his entire body aches from the exertion and exercise. Not only did it take forever to find what turned out to be two very drunk and very _naked_ women skinny dipping in the lake shooting fireworks, but he had to scale down a cliff to get to them. With a rope so old it fucking snapped before he was even halfway down. The rage he felt almost paralleled how far his stomach flew into his throat. It surpassed it when he realized that he’d have to take the long way back to the tower which turned out to be even _more_ hiking and climbing through a fucking cave.

            The only — _only_ — silver lining of the day was that the women had been drinking from a three-quarter filled bottle of Jonnie Walker blue that he confiscated for his own payment in addition to their remaining fireworks. All in all, the day fucking sucked and Andrew was more than ready for it to be over. Of course, that just meant the radio at his hip came to life.

            “Hey, just saw you hike back up the tower, or at least I think that’s you. If not then someone is robbing you.”

            “Fuck you,” Andrew bites back because honestly, he’s too tired to come up with something more inventive at the moment.

            “I take it went well then.”

            “I spent the whole day hiking all over this godforsaken forest only to fall from a cliff and get cursed at by two very intoxicated and naked women shooting fireworks in a forest. How do you think it fucking went?”

            “Drunk _and_ fireworks?” Neil sighs, “People are fucking stupid. Can no one read anymore?”

            “I vote we just ban anyone with an IQ 70 or below because clearly, they are just too dumb to survive in the wild.”

            Neil hums, “I’ll get the petition started right away.”

            Andrew can’t help the slight tick of the corner of his lips; it seemed someone could be reasonable after all. He sinks down into the chair at his desk, muscles stiff and protesting the whole way down and pulling a hiss from his lips. Everything hurt and he was covered in dirt and he still needed to unpack if he ever wanted to have clean clothes let alone have a livable space. He let his head fall back on the chair instead and raised the radio to his lips.

            “People fucking suck.”

            Neil’s chuckle is rich and light, filtering through the radio crisply and clearly to Andrew’s ears and doing _something_ to his stomach. He immediately squashes the feeling down with mild irritation.

            “They really are the worst, aren’t they? And yet our job is to deal with them all summer. Welcome to Two Forks Firewatch.”

            “Fucking perfect.”

            “Hey just think of it as the price for that coveted isolation you’re after so much.”

            “What makes you think I want to be alone?”

            Neil snorts, “Besides the obvious hostile attitude and grumblings about being left alone?”

            Andrew doesn’t deign him with a response.

            “It’s simple really. People take this job for one of two reasons: they are running from something or hiding from it.”

            “And which are you?”

            Neil is quiet for a moment before he answers. “Who says I’m not both?”

            Interesting answer for an increasingly interesting puzzle. Before he can prod further, Neil deflects with another smart remark.

            “Or maybe karma led me here to be plagued with you for the summer.”

            “Oh?” Andrew’s curiosity grows. “And what would you have done to earn karma’s ire?”

            The radio is quiet for a long time, so long Andrew thinks Neil must have turned it off. Then, ever so softly, it cracks back to life.

            “Too much.”

            The radio goes dead and Andrew doesn’t hear from Neil again.

 

* * *

 

            True to his word, Neil doesn’t radio Andrew again. No smart remarks, no colorful curses in languages he doesn’t know, and no tasks for him to do. For once, Andrew finds himself with complete and total silence out here in the forest. At first, it had been a blessing — everything he craved in order to give his mind a break from the usual sensory overload that came with a memory like his. He unpacked his things and tidied enough that the space felt less foreign and more of his own; he read a couple of the novels he packed away (both from Nicky and only one interesting enough for him to consider grabbing the sequel when this was over). Hell, he even smoked late into the night while staring at the stars. But three days in the appeal quickly wore off and the relaxing atmosphere turned unnerving.

            He never realized how loud the city was until that first night of radio silence fell. With nothing and no one within miles of his little abode, the only noise that filled the air were those of his own making or the low hum of insects buzzing at night. He hated it more than he wanted to admit. The silence went from comforting and calming to confining and evasive — boring into his thought at every moment until all he could do to chase it away was to focus on every slight sound. It reminded him a little too much of his empty apartment back on the other side of the country.

            Only his foresight in downloading his music library to his phone before leaving the land of Wi-Fi capability saved his sanity. But the music only took the edge of everything, silence still lurking beneath the surface no matter what he did. On the start of the second week, his eyes went to the radio.

            At first, he dismissed the idea easily as it popped in his mind. No way was he going to call Neil because he couldn’t handle the quiet (even if it slowly drove him and). Not when he asked for it in the first place. The radio’s charging light blinks at him — taunting him. He turns away.

            No fucking way. He could just hear Neil’s snide remarks the moment he gave in. They would be in that same dry tone he used when Andrew first responded to him — solid and mocking in a way that piqued Andrew’s interest. Or maybe he would ask what Andrew wanted in that exasperated sigh of his. Maybe Andrew will ask him what he meant by “Too much.” Too much what? What could Neil have possibly done that deserved punishment? And why did his voice sound so empty when he said it?

            His fingers reach for the radio before his mind can stop them. He blames his curiosity. Somewhere along the line Neil had turned into quite the mystery and Andrew was just bored enough to want to solve it. He pressed the call button.

            “So am I actually supposed to be doing something or am I getting paid to stare out a window and look at twigs all day?”

            No response. He didn’t quite entertain complete silence as an option. Well, you know what they say about assuming.

            “Earth to Neil,” he tries again. “It’s the middle of the afternoon, so I know you’re not sleeping. Even surly bastards are out of bed by one.”

            Still nothing.

            Andrew taps at the desk as he waits for the grumpy supervisor to break. When several seconds tick by, he tries a different approach.

            “Now who is being immature. I’m pretty sure ignoring your employees is considered impolite.”

            The radio sparks to life and Andrew ignores the flick on satisfaction.

            “I’m sorry and here I thought I was respecting _someone’s_ wishes to be left alone to their self-imposed isolation. My bad, next time I’ll make it more obvious what I’m doing.”

            “Careful Neil, you know what they say about stones in glass watchtowers and all that.”

            Neil hums, a deep rumble that vibrates against Andrew’s ear and sends a jolt through his body and straight down to his groin. His grip tightens on the radio so hard the plastic creaks under his fingers. Taking a deep breath, he shakes the feeling off — shakes off how much he _liked_ that. Damn, he must be going crazy out here if a mere hum sparked his libido (even if the sound was downright _sinful_ ).

“I’ll keep that in mind. Now was there actually a reason you’re calling me or can I hang up now?”

            “Oh am I keeping you from something? Got another appointment to keep out here in the middle of uninhabited woods?” Andrew drawls, reaching for his pack of cigarettes and lighter to have a smoke outside.

            “Believe it or not I do have other towers I’m responsible over.”

            “And do they get clearer instructions, or do you ignore them too?”

            Neil sighs, “Your duties are in your job title. You sit around staring at the bunch of twigs, as you so eloquently put it, and wait for something to catch fire. If it does, you call me and then I call the fire department. Otherwise, I don’t really care what you do with your time.”

            Andrew lights a cigarette. “That’s it?”

            “Well, occasionally there will be an idiot or two like those girls trying their damnedest to ruin your faith in humanity.”

            “Too late on that one,” he remarks dryly and is rewarded with a snort.

            “Well, that should make that part of the job easier. You could also hike too. Matt said there were some pretty cool trails in your section not far from the tower.”

            Andrew’s face twists into a grimace. “Volunteer exercise? No thank you.”

            He is surprised by the soft chuckle that filters through the radio in response. “You realize that his job is 90% exercise right? You’re literally in the middle of untamed woods and several nature trails. You’ll be hiking all summer.”

            “I thought my job was to sit on my ass and watch for fires?” He blows smoke rings in the air.

“I assume you have to leave the tower at some point. If only to use the restroom or shower.”

            “You know what they about assuming, Neil.” The dry remark earns him another soft laugh and he hates the way it tightens his chest.

            “You’re impossible. A little hiking never hurt anyone.”

            Andrew leans against the railing and stubs the cigarette out. “That sounds exactly what an exercise junkie would say. Tell me, Neil are you the type that spends all his free time hiking around obscure trails? Or maybe you do rock climbing instead, but only the free climbing kind.”

            He wonders if Neil would be a twin of Nicky’s German fiancé — a mountain of a man who indulged in outdoor sport regularly. A picture begins forming in his head of Neil as a tall man solidly built with muscles honed from years of outdoor activities. He sees sun-kissed skin dotted with freckles along his shoulders and nose with golden hair. He could see pink lips twisted in a smirk and bright blue eyes-

            And that’s quite enough brain.

            “No.”

            Andrew waits.

            “I go jogging.”

            A slimmer build then — the body of a runner with long lean legs and thighs the size of tree trunks that Andrew could run his hand over for days. Seriously, brain. Stop.

            “See,” he drawls, affecting as little emotion as possible. “Junkie.”

            Neil scoffs, “Oh fuck off. At least I do something, you lazy bastard.”

            “Who says I do nothing?”

            “You did. Not two minutes ago.”

            Andrew hums, “I said I don’t hike not that I don’t do anything. There you go with that assuming thing again.”

            “Oh fuck you,” the words have lost their bite, Neil’s tone settling into something more playful (almost like he’s _enjoying_ himself) “What do you like to do then? When you’re not being lazy that is.”

            Andrew twists his head and looks over his shoulder int the small room. He sees the typewriter sitting on the desk under the window and the stack of books next to it.

            “I read,” he eventually replies. “And write, though the latter is new.”

            “Yeah? Come out here to write your best-selling novel?” Andrew could hear the smirk. “Tell me you’ll add me as a character.”

            “Sure, you’ll be the first murder victim. Violently killed because of his smart mouth.”

            Another laugh. “As long as I go out in style.”

            “It’ll be embarrassing. The killer catches you because you trip like a horror movie girl.”

            “Now that’s just hurtful. I’m an excellent runner.”

            “I would hope so if that’s all you do.”

            “Now who is assuming? I have other hobbies besides running.”

            He doubts that. “Name one.”

            Neil seems to think about it for a minute (which only tells Andrew that he’s right in thinking him as an exercise junkie).

            “I draw and take pictures,” he answers softly.

            “Of what?” Andrew doesn’t know why he asks; he shouldn’t care — shouldn’t even engage in such a trivial conversation of _hobbies_ — but something about Neil makes him hungry to learn more. Maybe then the puzzle pieces would fit together in a clear picture for once.

            “What I draw or what I take picture of?”

            “Yes.”

            He huffs a laugh. “I take photos of pretty much everything. If I’m not out running, I have my camera wrapped around my neck and capture whatever draws my eye. When I draw it’s usually of people or parts of them like hands or eyes.”

            An artist then, someone captivated by the intricacies of life most overlook or don’t care enough to pay attention to. Somehow it didn’t add up to the image Andrew crafted in his mind. Just who was Neil?

            “So you’re basically a stalker then.”

            “I like to think of myself more as observant.”

            “Or paranoid.”

             Neil goes silent — _too_ silent — and the easy mood slips to one filled with tension and unease. Somehow Andrew stepped on an unknown landmine too close to the truth. He waited to see if he would explode or not.

“Isn’t everyone a little paranoid?” Neil answers, faking the ease from before but unable to hide the tension from his voice. Andrew hears it for the unasked request that it is.

_Let it go._

“Only the boring and oblivious aren’t paranoid. The world’s a cruel place, Neil.”

            “It’s not the world that is cruel but the people in it,” Neil whispers back, voice far off and tinged with a feeling Andrew is only all too familiar with.

            A couples of pieces fall into place, but just as one picture becomes clear a million others blur together. Andrew would be lying if he said it didn’t make him more interested (and frustrated). Just who was Neil Josten and what sort of scars was he hiding?

            Instead of prodding further, Andrew gives Neil an escape. “So do all your hobbies include running around like a rabbit and stalking or do you actually know how to have fun?”

            Neil huffs in annoyance. “Those _are_ fun.”

            “Someone needs to look up fun in the dictionary. Next you’ll say that Exy is the world’s best sport.”

            “You know Exy?” There is too much excitement in that question. Andrew internally groans.

            “Nope. Not again. I refuse to deal with another Exy junkie. Day was enough for a lifetime.”

            “Day? As in _Kevin_ Day? The son of Exy? Sole heir to Kaleigh Day, co-founder of Exy?? You _know_ Kevin Day?!” There is something between a whine and strangled moan that comes out of his lips. “He’s the best striker in the league! He learned to play with his nondominant hand when his left hand broke in that ski accident. He single-handedly brought the Foxes-”

            Neil sucks in a breath and Andrew _knows_ he’s made the connection. “You’re _that_ Andrew Minyard? The Foxes’ star goalie?! _You played Exy?!_ ”

            And Andrew was officially done with this conversation.

            “Nope.” He hangs up the radio and went to set it back on its charger. Too bad it didn’t seem like Neil was done with the conversation.

            “You could have gone pro!”

            “What was it like to play with Kevin? Do you still talk?”

            “Andrew?”

            “You still there?”

            “Andrew!”

            He decides to maybe go out for that hike after all. Sans radio.

            “Damn it Andrew, answer me!”

 

* * *

 

            For whatever reason, the radio calls become a daily routine. Sometimes it would be a call in the morning while Andrew had a cup of coffee, other times it was late at night when the stars covered the skies but neither of them could or wanted to sleep. Today, Andrew sat outside smoking on a cliff watching the sun sink lower in the sky. The world was dyed hues of red and pink and purple and the light changed his grey clouds of smoke into those mini-galaxies mimicking the dying sun. He wonders if Neil was watching it as well.

            As if summoned, the radio cracks to life and breaks the quiet calm of the air.

            “Enjoying the nice sunset?” Neil asks.

            Andrew plucks the radio from its spot on the ground next to him. He's taken to carrying it around once Neil learned that talking about Exy only earned him silence (at least most of the time).

            “Careful Neil, your stalker is showing.”

            Neil laughs a careless easy thing that has become common during their calls. Andrew’s stomach only flips slightly at the noise anymore.

            “Then you’re really going to be creeped out by my next question.” Andrew raises a brow in curiosity and grunts for him to continue. “What do you look like?”

            Andrew pauses, cigarette dangling from his lips and radio halfway raised to his mouth. The question is harmless really, but something gives him pause.

            “Why,” he asks after a minute.

            “Curiosity mostly,” comes Neil’s easy reply. “That and I’m drawing you.”

            Now that wasn’t something he was expecting. “How are you drawing me if you don’t know what I look like?”

            “I know the basics. You’re small and white, which really is an unfortunate combination. I remember that much from sports broadcasts when I used to watch PSU games on tv. That and the binoculars tell me at least that much.”

            “You’re watching me?” His tone sharpens as he looks around for telltale signs of someone looking.

            “Not right now and really not most of the time.” Andrew’s hackles lower slightly. “But I _am_ your supervisor, so I have to check in occasionally.”

            “Still sounds like a stalker.”

            “Yeah well… shut up. Are you going to answer or not?”

            Andrew doesn’t.

            “Andrew?”

            “I thought you wanted me to shut up?”

            “Right now I’m wanting to strangle you. If you don’t want to answer all you have to do is say so.”

            Andrew hums. Answering would be too easy and besides, he wouldn’t get anything in return. Unless… “What would you give me for it?”

            “Huh?”

            “Your question. What would you give me in return for my answer?”

            He hesitates, “What do you want for it?”

            “Truth for truth. You ask a question and then I ask one in return.”

            Silence as Neil thinks it over. Andrew waits patiently, finishing off the rest of his cigarette before Neil’s voice breaks through the radio once more.

            “Alright deal. What do you look like?”

            “Short.” Neil snorts. “White, blonde hair cut close to the sides and longer on top. Muscular.”

            The sound of pencil scratching against paper fills the receiver. “And your eyes?”

            “Hazel.” He thinks a moment then adds, “Blank.”

            The scratching stops. “That doesn’t sound right.”

            If Andrew were a laughing man, sharp laughter would burst from his lips. As it is, there is only a cool feeling of nothing.

“What do you know?” Before Neil could respond (because Andrew _knows_ he will), he takes his turn. “What about you?”

            The silence that follows lands just on this side of too long, as if the question meant more than it should. Andrew thinks that it might when Neil’s voice returns hoarse than before.

            “Taller than you, but still short. Lean and muscular but not overly so. My friend cut my hair in a similar style to you with short on the sides and long on the top. Red or auburn as I’m told.” Neil pause, the next words sound like it cost him to say them aloud. “Blue eyes.”

            Andrew lets this new image sink into his mind, reconstructing the physical attributes with the mental pieces he’s learned over the last few days. They are all simultaneously all wrong and perfect. (The fucking enigma.) Still, something in Neil’s voice makes Andrew think he’s missing something — as if something as simple as Neil’s appearance was a bigger clue to who he was than he originally thought. It probably was.

            “Red suits you,” Andrew finally replies. “And your temper.”

            Just like that, the tension breaks and Neil laughs. Andrew ignores the fluttering in his stomach.

 

* * *

 

            The game opens yet another door between them, easy truths traded back and forth until Andrew’s vision of Neil starts becoming a little clearer — a little more real. He learns that Matt, the previous watch before Andrew, is Neil’s best friend and that the only reason he’s not here this season is because Dan, his wife and Neil’s other best friend, is pregnant with their first child. He learns that Neil is going to be the godfather and the thought terrifies him ( _babies_ , Andrew! They are squishy and tiny and _breakable_ ). He learns that Neil likes his music and if he leaves the radio on while he played it, Neil will start humming and singing along in a soft voice in perfect pitch. (And if Andrew start leaving the radio on more often after that, then it’s nobody’s business but his).        

            In return, Andrew admits things about himself like his penchant for reading or his sweet-tooth born from a childhood where sugar and candy were rare and few. He tells Neil about his time in Juvie, bits, and pieces of his youth in foster care or at PSU with Kevin (and yes, the junkie even got him talking about Exy). Nicky and Aaron come up here and there, but family is a touchy topic for either of them and more often than not Neil carefully steered them clear of it at the first opportunity. In the midst of it all, Andrew finds himself _enjoying_ Neil’s company, his presence becoming a constant in his routine and life in such a way that most people haven’t in years.

            The radio never leaves his side, save when he sleeps, nor does the day go by without the constant chatter of conversation. Sometimes it’s just Neil bitching about another tower, other times it’s Andrew explaining some weird car mechanic that Neil refutes despite knowing fuck all about cars. Other times, it’s that soft hum of music and each other breathing while knowing someone else is there.

            But sometimes the past catches up with them both. Neil would spend hours a day running until his legs threatened to give out while Andrew’s numbness killed any words he might have spoken. Or they would manifest into nightmares that drove both boys from sleep much like tonight.

            This particular dream was a common one filled with Drake and that dark little bedroom in Northern California, but instead of him pinned beneath his hulking weight, Aaron stared up at him. He could only watch as Drake said over and over again about how much he always wanted twins.

            As his body shot up, his hands shook and that embodying numbness rippled thought his system followed by disgust and the barest hint of fear. It took him a couple of tries before he could swing his feet from the bed and trust them to hold his weight. A few more to light the cigarette as he escaped outside. The cherry red tip breathes to life as he takes a drag, a soft red glow in the otherwise pitch black night surrounding him. Still feeling unsteady, Andrew decides to go for a walk, slipping back inside for shoes, his jacket, and the radio.

            He doesn’t realize he’s walking towards Neil’s tower until the beacon of light catches his eyes across the valley. The radio is in his hand before he even realizes he reached for it.

            “Don’t junkies need their sleep if they’re going to make their morning runs?”

            Silence, then, “Andrew?” Neil’s voice is scratchy and rough like it would be if he had been screaming in his sleep. “Why are you up so late?”

            “Are you taking a turn?” Andrew answers, unwilling to give that bit of truth away for free (especially know that Neil would ask _what_ kept him up).

            “Do I need to?”

            Andrew remains silent.

            Neil waits, wanting to see if this silence was Andrew considering the answer or if it was the answer. When it comes clear that it’s the latter, he breaks the silence. “Can I ask something else?” Andrew grunts his approval. “What is something you never told anyone?”

            He thinks about the nightmare, about Drake and his abuse and the way it almost killed him a thousand time over. He thinks how on some days he wished it had. Instead, when he opens his mouth, what comes out is, “I killed my mother.”

            Silence, but the radio stays on so Andrew continues.

            “I tampered with the brake lines in her car so one day when she left for work, she didn’t come back.”

            Another beat of silence, and then, “Did she deserve it?”

            The question is so absurd and so _blasé_ that he thinks he misheard it at first. He just admitted to murdering his own mother and instead of being met with senseless platitudes and outcries of how could he do such a thing, Neil asks him if she _deserved_ it. No judgment, no hint of worry or disgust, just acceptance and a wanting to understand. It’s grounding.

            “I warned her of what would happen if she laid another hand on Aaron.”

            “Okay.” Pure, non-hesitant acceptance. Almost as if it was just that easy. (Maybe it was to Neil. Maybe their worlds are more similar than Andrew first thought.)

            “That apathy doesn’t bode well for your sanity, Neil.”

            Andrew could hear the shrug in his voice. “You warned her and she didn’t listen. Sounds like she should have.”

            “Most people would disagree.”

            “Most people live in a rose-colored world.”

            “Yes, they do.” Andrew takes a long drag and debates how to phrase his next question. “Why don’t you?”

            “Are you taking a turn?”

            “Yes.”

            Neil is quiet for a long long time. “My father was not a good man.”

            Andrew lets that answer sink in. “Did he hurt you?”

            “Yes.”

            Something dark stirs in his chest and his finger clench and unclench at his sides like they itch to hit something (or someone). “Where is he now?”

            “Gone.” Andrew hates how quiet Neil’s voice is — how even now fear laces into the word like he can’t truly believe it.

            They don’t talk for the rest of the night but the radio stays connected on both their ends until Andrew’s starts beeping at him in warning about the low charge. Neil must hear it because he speaks up.

            “Good night, Andrew.”

            He looks up at that tower, the sole pillar of light in the black void.

            “Good night, Neil.”

            He clips the radio to his hip and begins his journey back to the tower. Not for the first time, he sleeps and dreams of red hair and blue eyes.

 

* * *

 

            Andrew doesn’t know when or how, but things shift in his _relationship_ with Neil to the point that even he could not deny that this … whatever between them _was_ a relationship — even if he didn’t know exactly what kind of one it was. (Bee would be so proud of him.) Instead of Neil simply fitting into his routine, Andrew found himself expecting his calls, almost looking forward to them.

If pressed, he would say it was because without them it screwed with the day’s structure, but the truth of the matter is that the rumble of Neil’s voice did something to him. His laugh made Andrew’s chest tighten and his stomach flip while his dry sarcastic remarks made his lips twitch in amusement even when he knew coming from anyone else he’d be annoyed. It was Neil’s whisper in the dead of night while both of them laid in bed unable to sleep that calmed his nerves and soothed his jagged edges. Everything about Neil affected him and he _loathed_ it. Even when he didn’t.

            But Neil kept worming his way deeper under Andrew’s armor and he was powerless to stop him. Take their latest conversation for example. Andrew is walking through the forest in a bout of restlessness and curiosity with the radio hovering near his ear as Neil goes on and on about something or another (Andrew had stopped listening at some point, but if he had guess it was most likely about Exy) and Andrew’s chest bubbles with something most people would call fondness. Andrew Minyard does not do fondness. Not even when it washed over him in waves. Not one bit. (Too bad his traitor body didn’t seem to get the memo.)

            Neil reaches the climax of his story when Andrew stumbles upon an old campsite. Normally he wouldn’t bat an eye at it (this was a popular camping destination after all) but the site was far beyond the designated areas and hidden from view. Never a good sign.

            “We’ve got an illegal camper,” Andrew calls in, cutting Neil off.

“Damnit, seriously?” Neil groans. “Why can’t they just stick to the permitted areas. Do they want to fall off a cliff and die?”

            “Beats me, but this campsite does look abandoned.”

            Remnants of food cans and paper scatter over the ground and what Andrew thinks was a makeshift fire pit. He spies tossed rapped and bits of glass from what might have been a beer bottle poking out from the gravel underfoot. Whoever stayed here trashed the place and moved on without bothering to clean up. Andrew kicks at the trash.

            “People suck,” he grumbles into the radio. “Whoever they were, they’re long gone by now. Though not before leaving enough of a mess behind.”

            Neil lets loose of those colorful curses that Andrew had been needling Neil to teach him. “Fucking great.”

            “I’m not cleaning it up.”

            “Of course you’re not.” He sighs, “It’s not like it’s your job or anything. But sure, leave it as next season’s problem.”

            “I’m supposed to watch and make sure the forest doesn’t burn down, not act as someone’s maid because they can’t clean up their shit.”

            He kicks a can and watches as it skids towards a boulder.

            “Whatever. See anything that may point to where they might have gone? If they’re still hanging around, I rather catch them before they cause any more damage.”

            Andrew gives the campsite a cursory glance, but nothing pops out besides a newspaper thrown over a rock. He picks it up and notices it’s dated from a few years ago.

            “We may have gotten lucky. They left a paper and it’s dated from years ago.”

            “Oh? How long are we talking?”

            He skims the headlines boasting about the takedown of a serial killer. “Remember when they caught that serial killer a few years ago? It was this big thing that the media didn’t stop talking about for days. I even did a report on him for class. Sick bastard liked to torture people with a cleaver in his basement.”

            Andrew remembers the gritty photographs that accompanied the slides for that day’s presentation. Andrew may not have had Aaron’s background in medicine, but even he could tell that the people who ended up in the basement did not die quickly.

            “Fancied himself a butcher of all thing.”

            There is a sharp intake of breath and Andrew’s radio goes silent.

            “Neil?”

            For a long tense moment, there is no reply. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up as the silence persists. Before he can start calling Neil’s name again, the radio comes back on.

            “What was his name?” Neil sounds on the verge of breaking and it does nothing to lessen Andrew’s nerves.

            For a second, he hesitates. “Nathan Wesninski. The Butcher of Baltimore.”

            It was a mistake.

            While Andrew himself wasn’t prone to panic attacks, he was familiar enough to know that Neil was spiraling into one. His breathing went from tight and pained to erratic and shallow, as if his body was screaming for air but his lungs were punctured and leaking. Between gasps, Andrew thinks he hears quiet whimpers of the word no and something between a whine and sob choke in his throat. Andrew’s heart rate spikes in his chest in tandem with Neil’s growing panic.

            “Neil? Listen to me. Listen to the sound of my voice.”

            Another half sob and choked wheezing.

            “ _Listen_.” His voice takes on a sharp edge, his nerves too tight to allow any kindness to bleed in his tone. “Breathe Neil.”

            “I-I c-can’t.” Neil stutters back.

            “Yes, you can. Now do it.” Andrew stalks off, abandoning the camp and moving toward Neil’s tower.

            “A-Andrew.”

            “Breathe damn it!”

            Neil takes in a sharp breath.

            “Now another one.”

            Neil obeys but it gets caught in his throat and he chokes.

            “Slowly.” Andrew growls, trying to make his own breaths even as he dashes through the forest. “Big and deep and _slow_.”

            Neil sucks on in and holds it.

            “Now out.”

            Slowly, painfully, he releases it.        

            “Again.”

            He guides Neil through the next few breaths until he’s able to do them on his own, but instead of winding down his panic, it only transforms it into something new. Something dark and twisted that leaks into Neil’s voice as he chants something over and over again in every language he knows. Unable to decipher his mumbling, Andrew focuses on crossing the last bit of distance between him and the valley. What he planned to do once he got there he didn’t know but the need to _be there_ was too powerful to ignore.

            “Neil. _Neil._ Listen to my voice.”

            The muttering stops.

            “Your name is Neil Josten. You’re here in Wyoming at the Shoshone National park. It’s June of 2019. You’re a firewatch in Thorofare Tower. We’ve been here all summer. You’re safe. No one is going to get you.”

            “You don’t know that,” Neil whispers back.

            “ _I do_.” Andrew growls, his temper burning in his chest. “I won’t let them. You’re safe. _I promise_.”

            Andrew did not mean to utter those words — too many time has he offered them to someone only to be let down in the end. Too many time had he been burned from giving too much of himself away and getting nothing but bitter disappointment and resentment in exchange. He swore that he would never rip himself apart for another person like that again, but as soon as the words left his lips they tasted right. Like this time it would be different (that Neil was already so different than all the rest).

            “You can’t promise that.” It sounds so desperate and raw and Andrew wants to rip it from Neil’s mouth.

            “I swear. They can’t have you, Neil. I won’t let them.”

            Andrew doesn’t know if it’s the visceral sincerity in his voice or if the combination of threats and promises that calm the rising fear in his chest, but the words break through to Neil and stave off the remaining panic. His breathing evens and the desperation seeps from his voice. Andrew waits, quieting his own low thrum of panic that still sits heavy in him.

            An eternity later, Neil says, “I’m fine.”

            The anger Andrew feels is indescribable. “Shut the fuck up.”

            “Sorry.”

            It’s the wrong thing to say. “Say that again and I swear I’ll go over there and kill you myself.”

            A heavy silence falls over the radio and Andrew's fingers start itching for a cigarette in its wake. He burns through three before Neil speaks again.

            “Andrew?”

            “What.” His voice scratches his throat as the words tumble out.

            “I …” he starts and stops. “When I….”

            Andrew stops him there. “No.”

            The radio is silent but Andrew could hear Neil’s confusion bleed over the quiet. But confusion is better than whatever explanation Neil wanted to offer — than whatever truths he wanted to spill. Andrew didn’t want secrets of a desperate man too strung out from panic to know what he was offering.

            “No what?”

            “No, you don’t have to tell me.”

            “But-”

            Andrew says the only thing that will shut Neil down. “Not your turn.”

            It’s a thinly veiled lie, and one both see-through, but Neil accepts it for the escape that it is. They don’t speak again for the rest of the day. Andrew stays at the cliff side long after the sun sinks below the horizon.

            The silence leaves him unsettled in a way that it hasn’t since he came out here (since he first started talking to Neil properly). It feels more like the silence back home — the one that lingered I the halls of his empty apartment and filled his head with the soft static of numbness. He thought he escaped it out in the woods, but for the first time in a while, Andrew lies away in the dead of night alone with his thoughts. The radio rests on the blanket next to his thigh, not expecting Neil to call in but waiting for it all the same. Andrew doesn’t want to think of what that exactly means.

            A book lies open on his stomach, but he hasn’t touched it for hours — his mind too busy turning over Neil’s panic over and over again. The pieces he thought fit together were blown apart this afternoon. He know that something traumatic must have happened in Neil’s past (the man much too careful with Andrew’s triggers not to have some of his own) but the sheer terror and panic he witnessed today extends past traumatic. Whatever happened to Neil broke something in him — broke him into something as jagged and scarred as Andrew. Maybe even more so. And damn him if that didn’t make him more of an enigma.

            “Andrew?” The radio whisper, Neil’s voice low and soft — _too soft_.

            Andrew tries not to think about how his own voice is just as soft when he answers, “Neil.”

            “I’m taking a turn.” He pauses waiting to see if Andrew will stop him again. When he doesn’t, Neil continues. “If I tell you something, will you listen?”

            That flames of curiosity flicker to life but what Andrew says is, “You don’t have to.”

            “I know, but I want to. So, will you?”

            “Yes.” The word feels heavier than it should.

            As Neil speaks, the pieces of him start falling together in ways Andrew didn’t fully expect. Some he had guessed, others came as a surprise but ultimate fit with what he assumed. Some, Andrew didn’t expect at all. Trauma didn’t come close to describing those pieces. Neither did broken.        

            The picture Neil paints goes like this: It started with a boy born into a house of pain and fear at every corner, where one misstep was met with knives and cruelty casually disguised as lessons. It starts with a father only too willing to inflict those “lessons” on his only son and grant the same to his friends (who were only too eager to obey) until the boy only knew pain for 10 years.

            It continues with that same boy’s mother stealing him in the dead of night and dragging him across the world for nine years — neither of them stopping long enough to plant their feet and call it home. It continues with his mother’s desperation to stay alive manifesting in fists and slaps against the boy’s skin until her lessons burned into it like the lessons of his father (and oh how Andrew _burned_ when he learned that).

            It ends with the boy being caught and watching his mother scratch and claw their captors until they land one hit too many and she falls. It ends with him throwing himself in the line of danger for a woman who doesn’t deserve it, barely escaping with their lives. It ends with him watching his mother gasp her last breath from a wound neither of them could see. It ends with a fire on some nameless beach and a boy left alone with nothing to do but run. And he never stopped.

            Andrew listens to all this in silence and waits for the panic to start again. But it never comes, Neil’s voice a void of emptiness Andrew recognizes all too well.

            “Abram,” Neil offers at the end of it all. “I can’t give you my name, but I can give you that. It’s my middle name … It’s what she would call me in private when we both needed a bit of truth.”

            He pauses. “It’s the only truth I have left to give you.”

“Abram,” his tongue curls around the name, testing the way it feels and sounds. He can admit to himself that he likes it far too much. Neil does too if the sharp breath of air he draws in is any indication.

            “And the Butcher?” Andrew asks because it’s the only piece that doesn’t fit.

            Neil is quiet for a long time. Andrew waits.

            “My mother caught his attention when we ran. He hunted us down alongside his friends.”

            Andrew hums, content to let it lie where it was. Not the whole truth but enough that he can’t fault Neil for not cutting himself open any more than he already has.

            “Is he dead?”

            “Who? The Butcher? You saw the paper, they got him and a few of his inner circle on a raid.”

            “No, your father.”

            Quiet, then a soft, “Why?”

            “Because if he’s not, then I’m going to kill him.” He says it like a promise because it is. Andrew will hunt the man down and make him repent every last mark he left on Neil, even if it takes hours. (Especially if it takes hours.) Only then would he grant him the mercy of a slow death.

            Neil laughs a jagged and abrupt thing that makes Andrew think he couldn’t hold it in if he tried. It’s a beautiful broken thing.

            “He’s dead.”

            Something in his chest growls with satisfaction even as it glowers at the missed opportunity to do the deed himself. Andrew lets the silence fall over them, but this time it’s soothing rather than deafening.

            “Ask me something.”

            Neil thinks for a minute. “Tell me one happy memory you have. It could be anything just… tell me something happy.”

            Andrew wants to scoff. Happy was a word that didn’t exist in Andrew’s world, not as an adult and most definitely not as a child. And if it ever did, it never stayed in his life for long. But, Neil asked and Andrew has long since admitted that there is very little he would deny him.

            “One year Cass let me help her bake a cake after school. It wasn’t any holiday or my birthday, she just asked me if I wanted some cake and if I would like to help. She let me lick the batter from the bowl when we were done mixing it.”

            Neil hums, and Andrew could hear the creak of a bed over the radio. “Sugar, your favorite. Who’s Cass?”

            Andrew hesitates. Neil asked for happy and that answer would never be anything close to that. Still, he answers because Neil asked. “My foster mother.”

            “Oh.” A pause. “Was she a good one?”

            He thinks of the cake, of the soft-spoken, the new bedroom filled with things just for him. “I thought she was.”

            Neil lets the answer linger in the air, unwilling to push for something Andrew was already willing to give.

            “Ask me, Neil.”

            “What happened?”

            Andrew looks at the ceiling and lets a familiar numbness wash over his body. “His name was Drake.”

            He weaves his own tale of tragedy, telling Neil of the almost home he so desperately tried clinging to even if it meant tearing himself to pieces to do so. When that story ends, he surprises them both by continuing, telling Neil about juvie and Luther, about life with Nicky and Aaron, about Bee and her kind words and how she was more of a mother than Cass had ever been even if he never called her mom.

            Neil remains silent, just as Andrew had for him, only asking one question more. “Is he dead?”

            “No.”

            “He will be.” There is steel behind Neil’s voice that he’s never heard before but doesn’t sound unnatural.

            Andrew does scoff then. “And what would you do Neil? Bore him to death with Exy talk?”

            Neil is silent. “I was raised among monsters, Andrew. You’d be surprised by how much of one I can be.”

            If Andrew was anyone else, he thinks those words would send a shiver down his spine, would make him pause and twitch with fear. But Andrew locked fear away years ago.

            “What a pair we make,” he drawls. “Two monsters alone in the forest waiting for the world to burn. Management sure fucked that one up.”

            He expects Neil to scoff, maybe even laugh and follow Andrew’s smart remark with one of his own. What Neil says instead is this:

            “You’re not a monster Andrew.”

            _Oh, but he was_ , Andrew thinks bitterly. “I have several people who would disagree with you on that point.”

            “They’re wrong.” It’s said with such conviction that it sets Andrew on edge.

            “And what do you know?” He sneers.

            “You told me what happened to your mom, Andrew. What you did for Nicky when those guys beat him up. Hell, you even tried sparing Cass from her sick son. Everything you do, _everything_ , is to protect someone else. The only person you don’t protect is _you_.”

            “Oh, Neil. Poor delusional Neil. You’re so quick to draw me as the hero in those stories, but what if I’m the villain hmm?”

            Neil is too quiet for Andrew’s liking. His muscle tense for a fight he knows is coming but instead of viciously snarled words, Neil’s response is calmed and quiet.

            “You’ve seen the villains Andrew. Looked into the eyes of monsters disguised as men and saw nothing but violence and pain looking back.”

            Andrew says nothing because it’s true.

            “So tell me, are you them?”

            _No_. The answer ripped from him is visceral and raw. Shocking and infuriating. It shakes him to the core and leaves his fingers trembling against the radio. He doesn’t answer Neil (not sure he could even find the words to if he wanted) but Neil doesn’t need it to know he’s right.

            “You’re not a monster Andrew.”

            _Liar_ , his mind wants to scream, but he can’t for once Andrew doesn’t think Neil has lied once tonight.

            What he offers instead is, “Neither are you your father.”

            Because Andrew heard the way Neil’s voice hitched when he said he was raised by monsters. How he said Andrew wasn’t one but did not deny it himself. The radio goes silent and like all those times before, Andrew waits.

            “Thank you.”

            It’s a soft and broken thing. But Andrew thinks he hears just the tiniest bit of hope in it too.

 

* * *

 

            Andrew long since gave up trying to keep track of the ways Neil’s buried himself into his life. It’s pointless when he’s not sure if he had any defenses left to stop him. He’s not even sure he would _want_ to if he did. Neil felt like an inevitability and that thought bothered Andrew more than it should. Because Andrew did not get inevitabilities — especially not ones that make him think that there’s a light at the end of the proverbial fucking funnel.

            But Neil does and Andrew doesn’t know how he feels about that. (That’s a lie. He knows exactly how it feels but something deep inside of him fears that if he names it, it will slip away like it had some many times before.) So he lets it fester in his chest as Neil’s voice floats through the radio.

            They still talk at a nearly constant rate, late night talks changing from when they couldn’t sleep to the reason that keeps them up in the first place. More than once he woke to find the radio on his pillow with Neil’s line still connected, soft breath of air puffing over the speaker. Sometimes Andrew just lays there and pretends those breaths are coming from a warm body pressed against his side rather than a small radio. He doesn’t think about what that means; he doesn’t think about _anything_ simply allowing it to be.

            But his mind has rarely been so kind as to leave it for long.

            The world starts burning a month before Andrew and Neil as due to leave. It started out as a small trail of smoke peaking out of the trees on the far corner of Andrew’s territory. He called it in, but by the time he hiked out to investigate further, the blaze grew twice its original size and engulfed an entire section of the forest. When he hiked back, the sky burned red and the air carried ash and the scent of smoke to his doorstep.

            “You know,” Neil’s voice teases, “You didn’t need to go start a fire just because you were bored.”

            “Hardy har, Josten.” Andrew deadpans, “How do I know this wasn’t you? Out of the two of us, only one has any actual experience with fire.”

            Neil hums, “maybe it was your smoking habit. I did tell you to stub those cigarettes out _before_ you flicked them into a _dry_ forest _._ ”

            “Oh fuck off.”

            He laughs, the sound bouncing around in the night air as the sky bleeds red even after the sun had long since set hours ago. Andrew stared at the mixtures of red and purples as the fire still rages on for the third day in a row.

            “I love how they look at night,” his voice is softer than before, almost reverent. “The fire. During the day it’s just smoke but at night… when the sun is down you can almost see the beauty in it. You can just… get lost.”

            Andrew hums his agreement but otherwise remains silent, letting the silence settle in his bones and wash away the day’s activities until he’s warm and pliant against the railing.

            “Before…” his voice wavers, a hesitancy tinging the words like he’s unsure of how to form them with his tongue. “Before, fire always reminded me of _him_. His hair, the raging anger that would burn as much as the iron he pressed to my skin when I was five.”

            Andrew wishes not for the first time that he could raise the man from the dead just so he could kill him again. _Slowly_.

            “But here… here it’s almost beautiful.” The last word is a whisper, but it rings in Andrew’s head as loud as if he shouted it.

            “Yeah, it is.” He ignores how his voice replies just as softly.

            They fall silent, so silent that Andrew would suspect the line went dead if he couldn’t hear the small crackles of air through the receiver. Andrew waits for Neil to say whatever it is he’s thinking. He wasn’t prepared when he did.

            “I wish I was there with you.” Something sad and longing fills his voice, “We could sit outside and talk without these fucking radios.”

            The words twist Andrew’s stomach and tightens his chest — not because he’s surprised at the words but rather because he feels that same longing.  For so long Andrew had been alone, had convinced himself that he was better of in being so. That way no one else could let him down or leave him. That the family he was so desperate to have as a child didn’t just turn out as the rest: nonexistent and unobtainable fantasy. But coming here, meeting Neil? Andrew hasn’t had a lonely day this entire summer.

            So that’s why instead of letting the silence swallow Neil’s words like he would have months ago, he offers his own truth. “Me too.”

            He aches with the sincerity in those words, unable to shove the feelings into a box like he had countless others. Because for once in his life, Andrew feels something and doesn’t want to pretend he doesn’t. Neil had cut himself open for Andrew time and time again so it’s only fair that he does the same.

            Even if the thought terrifies him.

            “Are you watching?” Neil asks, voice still soft.

            “Yes.”

            But he’s not. His eyes strained towards the small beacon of light miles in the distant. They strain just to see the barest hint of Neil’s tower, hoping somehow to catch glimpse of the man that shattered Andrew’s world. Because he knew there was no going back after this — that life would never be the same now that Neil had waltzed in like a fucking hurricane. Andrew can only hope he survives the storm.

            Subconsciously he wonders when he let Neil in this deep — when Neil had curled up in his chest next to where his heart was and called it home. He wonders when he stopped caring that he had — when Neil stopped being an annoyance or something to kill time with and became something vital. Most of all, he wonders how long he will be allowed to keep this before it’s ripped away like every other good thing in his life.

            If only he knew just how soon that would be.

 

* * *

 

            The shoe drops sooner than Andrew thinks. It started like this:

            Two days after admitting how deep his relationship with Neil went, he decides that something needs to be done about these … _feelings_. If Andrew prided himself on anything it was his ability to get shit done when it needed to be done. He never understood how people sat around and twiddled their thumbs when they were unhappy with what life had given him — too long had he waited for what he thought life owed him instead of taking it as his own when he wanted. As such, now that Andrew’s admitted to himself (however reluctantly) that Neil means something more than just a comforting voice over the radio, he needs to take one of two options.

 The first is that he could cut Neil from his life, rid himself of the vulnerability that had wiggled its way under his armor and compromised the security he built up for himself after years of abuse and disappointment. While he could hear Bee’s disapproval nagging away, the option proves itself as the one that leaves Andrew the least vulnerable to being hurt. Yes, cutting out Neil would probably hurt (Andrew thinks almost as much as it had to lose Cass) but he’s long since hardened himself against such loss. But that option also meant falling back in the life he so desperately wanted to escape from this summer — the empty apartment with a deafening silence and no meaningful connections to another physical person in his life. And as much as Andrew pretends to need no one and nothing, he’s learned enough by now how untrue that statement is. If he goes back to that life, he’s not sure he’ll make it back out. Or that he’ll make it at all.

            So really, that only left option two, telling Neil how he felt and hoping for the best. He leans back in his chair, feet propped up on the desk next to the abandoned typewriter and the large stack of pages he somehow managed to write over the course of the last few months. The second option isn’t the _worst_ per se, but it does include the most risk. If he admits what he feels to Neil it could push the man further away and destroy the delicate truths they carefully build up all summer. Yet, it could also open that final door between them, one that brings Neil closer into Andrew’s life and lets him experience something he never thought he would get to have in life. He leans forward until his elbows rest on his knees and his fingers cradle his chin, contemplating what he would even _say_ to the man.

            Maybe he could bring it up in the next round of their game — they don’t play as often as they once had, but every now and then Neil will take a turn if he feels particularly intrusive. Andrew could easily slip in a question about Neil’s thoughts on dinner after this is all over, maybe the possibility of something more.

            Andrew grimaces at the thought. Maybe he should just offer to blow him.

            His mind flashes with images of a lithe body under his hands, all lean muscle and sun-kissed skin as they roam up and down his chest and thighs all while a breath voice calls his name.

            Oh wait, that was real.

            “Andrew?” Neil’s voice breaks through his fantasy, “Are you listening to me?”

            “Never,” comes Andrew’s automatic reply.

            He hears what he thinks is an attempt at an affronted huff, but the noise is short as Neil sharply breathes through his nose in an attempt to keep his breath in rhythm. Lately, the junkie has taken to brining his radio with him on runs, huffing and panting in Andrew’s ear as he does endless circuits around the forest while inanely chatting away. Andrew would be annoyed if that breathy tone didn’t fuel his fantasies for days. Especially when he called out Andrew’s name in that breathy tone like he would with Andrew’s mouth wrapped around-

            “Andrew?”

            Really, it’s a distraction.

            “What?”

            “I was asking- Son of a bitch!”

            A crash reverberates over the radio followed by a string of colorful curses Andrew has started to recognize after all this time. (Neil really does have quite the sailor’s mouth.) He smirks even though Neil can’t see it.

            “Told you that you were going to trip one of these days. Didn’t they teach you not to run and talk at the same time?”

            “Oh go fuck yourself.”

            Now that was too easy of an opening. Andrew hums, “I much rather fuck you.”

            This time the crash that follows is louder. The line also goes dead for a few seconds. Andrew would worry that he crossed a line if not for the fact that Neil cuts back in not even half a second later.

            “Wha-you- you can’t just _say_ stuff like that while I’m running!”

            “Say stuff like _what_ Neil?”

            “You know-  that you… You know what stuff!”

            “Oh,” he drawls, voice steady despite how fast his heart beats in his chest. “You mean the fact that I want to fuck you.”

            More cursing. It almost calms Andrew’s nerves. It definitely makes his mouth quirk up slightly in amusement.

            “Yes,  _that_.”

            All amusement falls from his face and his tone takes on a serious edge. “Does it bother you?”

            “What?”

            “Does the fact that I want to have sex with you bother you?” He needed to know now before he took this any further (he refused to be _them_ ).

            The line is quiet for a moment. “No, I’m not bothered… just…. A little confused I think. I thought you hated me?”

            “I do.”

            “Oh,” he sounds almost dejected.

            Andrew rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t blow you.”

            “ _Oh_.”

            “So?”

            “I…” Neil’s voice trails off, the sound getting further as if he was lowering the radio. “I think the powerlines are down.”

            What.

            “What?”

            “The powerlines. I think they might be down.” Feet pound against dirt and trample over twigs and leaves. “Shit, yeah they’re definitely down.”

            “Powerlines,” Andrew deadpans. He just admitted to wanting to sleep with Neil and he was focused on _powerlines_. He doesn’t know if the man was dense or uninterested.

            “Yes, Andrew powerlines,” Neil remarks like _he’s_ the one being obtuse. “You know the thing responsible for providing us electricity and a communication line? I need you to head out towards Beartooth Point and see if they’re down on your end too.”

            Andrew cannot believe this is his life. “You want to me to hike out and check on _powerlines_.”

            “Yes.”

            For the love of-

            “What will you give me for it?”

            Neil groans. “How about I don’t fire you for ignoring a request from your supervisor?”

            “Nice try,” Andrew scoffs, “We’re out of here in a few weeks. You couldn’t if you wanted to.”

            “Fine then, what _do_ you want?”

            _You_. Andrew brushed the thought aside. Plan B then.

            “Dinner.”

            “Dinner?”

            “In a place with stupidly comfortable chairs, better alcohol, and a desert menu longer than the height of this god forsaken tower.”

            “You… you want me to buy you dinner?”

            “No.” Andrew answers. “I want you to agree to dinner with me.”

            Silence. Then, “Like a date?”

            He looks to the sky for patience. “Yes, Neil. Like a date.”

            “I’m so confused.”

            That makes two of them.

            “About what, Neil?”

            “You want to go on a date… with me?”

            “What exactly about what I said was unclear?”

            “I don’t know! Everything! You said you hate me!”

            “I also said that I’m attracted to you and want to sleep with you. I think it’s pretty clear that I don’t actually hate you.” He pauses. “At least not all the time… Maybe like 90% of the time.”

            “That… _oh_.”

            Andrew almost bangs his head on the desk.

            “I, uh, yes.”

            He sits up. “Yes?”

            “Yes, I’ll go on a date with you.” Another small pause, but this time Andrew can hear the soft smile in Neil’s voice rather than the hesitancy of confusion. “I would like that, I think. Very much so.”

            Andrew’s stomach does _not_ flip damn it. He is a grown (enough) man and his stomach doesn’t flip because someone said yes to a date.

            “But also I really do need you to check out the powerlines. If they’re down on both our ends that a major red flag I’ll need to call in asap.”

            The request is almost enough to pop the bubble of Andrew’s mood but he _did_ say that was his price. “Fine, but you’ll owe me.”

            Neil laughs incredulously, “Even after I agreed to your deal?”

            He hums.

            “Fine, how about the second date will be on me?”

            Andrew pauses. This time his stomach definitely does flip. One date seemed like an impossibility; the thought that there could be more — that Neil so casually said there would be a second as if were a given — seemed like a pipedream. Words stick in his throat and he has to lower the radio before its steady enough to answer in the same bored tone he always uses.

            “Already thinking you’ll get a second date?”

            “You think I won’t?” Neil asks too smug for someone who was confused at the thought of someone asking him out not 2 minutes ago.

            “91%”

            Neil laughs, bright and joyous. “Go check the powerlines and then we can debate on how much of a chance I have with you for a second date.”

            “Demanding,” he deadpans but sets out for the powerlines anyways.

            For once he’s not even mad about the exercise, his mind too preoccupied with the smug finality in Neil’s voice and the list of place he wanted to take Neil for dinner. It takes Andrew 20 minutes to hike out to Beartooth Point. The radio sits quietly clipped to his hip since Neil had to call the incident in as a precaution, leaving Andrew with a blissful moment of silence. Normally, the silence would annoy him, but the torrent of plans for the date occupy the space of Neil’s chatter quiet easily.

            First and foremost he would drive to the closest hotel with a rating of four stars or above and rent the biggest room he could afford without emptying his bank account. Then he would wash away all the dirt and grime in the world’s best shower with piping hot water and water pressure until he felt like a person again. Maybe once he shaved and cut his hair, he might go out and buy some clothes — maybe a tight black shirt he knows will show off his biceps and stretch nicely against his chest and jeans that hug his legs in all the right places.

            Eventually, the powerlines come into sight over the hill and Andrew reaches for the radio. “Powerlines are in my line of sight. They look to be up from what I can tell.”

            He releases the button and waits for Neil to answer. Maybe he would get the Maserati washed and waxed before he picked up Neil. It would probably use a new coat a wax anyways; that way it will be nice and shiny when he drives up to Neil’s apartment… his thoughts trail off when no reply comes.

            “Neil?”

            Nothing.

            Silence rarely filled the radio anymore — Neil always ready with some smart remark or witty come back poised on that tongue if it weren’t already occupied with some tale or another. At first, he thinks Neil must be on another line, but the silence that persisted unnerved him. Andrew called his name a couple more times. The radio finally comes to life after the fifth call.

            “I’m here.” The voice is clipped and tight as if the words were a struggle to get out passed a closed throat.

            Alarm bells start ringing in his head. “What’s wrong.”

            “I-I don’t,” Neil stutters, a lie already forming on those lips and pushing Andrew’s rising temper over a tipping point.

            “Don’t _lie_ to me, Neil. What’s wrong.”

            “I-”

            “The truth,” Andrew warns because he’s not in the mood for any of Neil’s half-truths.

            “I don’t know!” Neil explodes, words harsh and desperate. “ _I don’t know_ ,” he repeats softer. “Just finish hiking up and make sure the lines are up.”

            “What-”

            “Just do it!”

            The line goes dead and Andrew’s grip threatens to crumble the device. “Neil.”

            No answer.

            “ _Neil_.”

            Nothing.

            “If you don’t answer and keep talking, the only place I’m going to hike is to your tower so I can kick your ass.”

            Nothing.

            “Ne-”

            A “Sorry,” comes through, Neil’s voice breathy and strained. “Sorry, I was running back to my tower. I was pretty far out. Can you just check out those lines ple-… ? I really need to know if they’re still up.”

            Andrew stiffens at the aborted word. Not because of the memories it conjures up, but at the fact that Neil almost slipped up and said it. Neil _never_ says that word, not once since Andrew asked him not to. Not since he learned what that word meant to someone like him. The alarm bells go haywire.

            “Neil.”

            “ _Andrew_.” He can hear the plea in it. The Desperation.

            “Okay,” he agrees because what else can he do? “I’ll check them out. Just stay on the line.”

            “Okay.”

            He lets the radio go silent in favor of jogging the last bit of distance between him and the powerlines. By the time he reaches the top of the hill, he’s sweaty and out of breath (maybe he should start cutting back on those cigarettes) but the sight of the line makes his stomach drop and a cold chill settled over him. Because not only were the lines down, it looked like they were _cut_.

            He can barely hear his own thoughts over the alarm bells.

            “I reached the lines.”

            Neil’s response is immediate. “And?”

            “They’re cut, Neil.”

            The noise he makes isn’t human. “Go back to the tower _now_ and lock the door, Andrew.”

            “Wha- Neil what the fuck is going on?”

            “I don’t fucking know but these lines weren’t cut for fun. So just get to your fucking tower and _lock the fucking door_.”

            His head pounds at the volume and his muscle tighten for a fight he can’t see but knows is coming. “I’m not going anywhere until I get some fucking answers.”

            Silence.

            “Fuck it.” He starts hiking towards the cliff leading to Neil’s tower, the trip made shorter since he was already out that way.

“Neil fucking Josten.”

            Nothing.

            He reaches the cliff and to his surprise the metal cart sits on his side of the chasm, waiting for him to climb in. He raises the radio to his lips. “So help me Josten, if you don’t answer me in the next second, I’m climbing into this metal death trap and going over to kick your ass.”

            He waits and when there is no reply, he stalks forward (because Andrew has never made an empty threat in his life and he wasn’t about to start now).

            “Your funeral,” he growls, reaching for the handle.

            “I’m here,” Neil calls out. It’s enough to make Andrew pause, not because he was expecting it but because there is a calmness in his tone that wasn’t there before.

            “Sorry, I had to go on the other line and ask some of the other towers if any of their lines were down too. Turns out Jean’s tower reported some unruly campers that were doing some damage to the park a few days ago. Jean kicked them out, but he’s not sure they didn’t just move to another section of the park or even to one of our regions.”

            He pauses.

            “You should head back to the tower and see if you can spot any signs of them. Maybe they’re still hanging around on your end. I’ll do the same here.”

            It sounds too tidy, like another lie practiced to perfection. Neil is too calm, too steady when just moments before he sounded on the edges of panic.

            “Don’t lie to me, Neil.”

            He snorts, “Now who is the paranoid one? Sometimes the truth is really that simple.” He pauses. “People suck Andrew, we’ve been saying this all summer.”

            Andrew says nothing, letting the silence be his answer enough.

            It earns him a sigh. “You still at the cliff overlooking my tower?”

            “Yes.”

            “Take your binoculars out and look at the furthest right of the tower.”

            He does so, eyes scanning over the trees until they land on the figure of a man standing with the sun at his bad. The harsh lighting casts him entirely in silhouette so Andrew can’t make out a single damn thing other than the shape of Neil. He hates how even that much is enough to make his stomach flip and his throat go dry.

            “Do you see me?”

            “Yes,” he fights to keep his voice even.

            The figure waves a hand and Andrew’s chest tightens.

            “Thank you for worrying, but I’m fine. You can go back now.”

            Andrew doesn’t answer. He doesn’t move.

            “Hey Andrew?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Thank you,” the words are as soft as a whisper — too delicate for the silence that hangs between them now. “You were amazing.”

            The world quiets, the alarms still ringing through his head but the intensity of them tempered by the fast thrum of his heartbeat. No one ever thanked Andrew before. Not Aaron for keeping his promise and saving him from Tilda’s abuse. Not Nicky when he pulled those men off him. Not Wymack for saving the Foxes’ time after time. And certainly not Kevin for standing between him and his demons for years. But Neil?

            Neil thanked him as easily as breathing. He thanked him for doing his shitty job no matter how many times he complained about it. He thanked him for listening to him talk on and on throughout the day when he knows Andrew could care less about Matt’s obsession with boxing or Dan’s weird workout routines that change every few weeks or Allison’s need to drag him shopping every time she’s in town. He thanks him for the truths and the promises and the hushed words late at night. Neil thanks him _constantly_. But this time Andrew doesn’t know what he did to earn this thanks. For hiking out? For worrying? For talking to him?

            He doesn’t know. He _can’t_ know because it doesn’t make any sense.

            “Go back to the tower, Andrew.” Neil continues after a moment too long. “We’ll see each other soon enough. Still got that date remember?”

            It feels wrong, so very wrong, but all he can say is, “Yes.”

            “I can’t wait for it.”

            For some reason, it sounds more like goodbye.

 

* * *

 

            Andrew is halfway back to his tower when he decided that he needs a drink — specifically a drink from that half filled bottle of scotch he confiscated months ago. Maybe he’d finish the damn thing after the day he’s had. Neil’s words still run through his head like a broken record, every loop making less sense than the last. They begin mixing with the dull thrum of the alarm still blaring, making his muscle tense and pushing him to the edges of rage and restlessness. It doesn’t help that the radio sits quietly in his hand, Neil having told him he would be radio silent as he deals with the fallout of the cut powerlines but Andrew unable to put it down all the same.

            He remembers the joke Neil tried making about bureaucracy and red tape but it fell just shy of flat and hung in the air between them. They were in a limbo of silence: Andrew knowing something was wrong and Neil’s refusal to admit to what it was. Short of defying Neil’s orders and heading for Thorofare Lookout anyways, Andrew could do nothing but wait for Neil to tell him the truth. So he started back towards the tower, thinking that if he had to wait, no one said he had to do it sober.

            It’s not until he reaches Thunder Canyon when those powerlines cut through the fog of his annoyance and halt his steps. Those lines weren’t just cut, they were _purposely_ done so — displayed so someone would know as much from a glance. Almost like a message. A chill spread over Andrew’s bones. It was too calculating, too precise for a prank done by some jilted campers wanting to fuck with the park rangers.

            And then he remembers Neil’s panic attack, how he could hardly breathe until Andrew assured him that he was safe — that Andrew wouldn’t let anyone take him away. He remembers the mumbled mantra Neil prayed at the peak of the attack, words Andrew couldn’t decipher then but turn over in his mind over and over again now in perfect remembrance. _They found me They found me they found me they found me they found me they found me. Don’t let them take me_.

            The alarm bells reach full volume and Andrew _runs_.

            He covers the distance in half the time, not even registering how his chest heaves and his lungs burn as he yanks the binoculars from his pack and desperately scans for a sign of that silhouetted figure in the dying sun. He scans and scans but the sun had sunk past the tree lines, casting the tower in shadows and blending it into the dark sky behind it. Letting them drop to the ground he looks at the cart still waiting for him.

            His stomach flips and riots at the thought of the metal contraption carting him across a schism far too deep and perilous for Andrew even when his feet are firmly planted on solid ground. But without it, he’d never reach Neil in time to stop whatever it was from getting him. He steps into the cart, his knuckles turning white as he grasps the railing when it sways with his weight and movement. Waiting for it to still, he shuffles towards the control panel, the array of buttons meaning nothing to him as he flips various switches and hits buttons until the engine whirls to life and he lurches forward into the open air.

            Andrew makes the mistake of dipping his eyes once below the horizon into the empty air between him and the ground hundreds of feet below, that familiar swoop of his stomach whenever he even thinks of heights. When his eyes level back on the horizon he curses Neil and his cryptic bullshit that led him here in the first place.

            He curses Matt and his fucking note while he’s at it too.

The sun and its dying light are completely gone by the time the cart reaches Thorofare Lookout. Having never seen a map of the region, Andrew has to rely on pure instinct and his compass in navigating to Neil’s tower in the pitch black forest. It does nothing in settling his nerves as he crosses unknown trees and paths only lit by the thin beam of his flashlight as he continues in what he hopes is the right direction. After about 20 minutes of nearly blind stumbling, he tumbles into the clearing of Neil’s tower.

            Items litter the base of the tower — everything from t-shirts to pants to books and utensils covering every inch of the ground like they had been thrown from the tower’s window left to land where they pleased. The alarms quiet, but Andrew knows better than to know the danger has passed; the calm over him too familiar to mean anything but an oncoming storm. As he approaches the stairs, the beam of his flashlight illuminates sparkles of broken glass littered in the grass, some stained red.

            He clicks off the light and listens. Silence. Dread fills him.

            Andrew waits a moment. Two. On the third, he begins his ascent. Quietly. Slowly. His entire world focuses on every twitch and groan of the wooden steps beneath his feet. When the last step levels out to floorboards of the tower’s platform Andrew listens once more.

            Up here the sound of a voice murmurs from the dark room of Neil’s tower. A voice that is not one Andrew recognizes. It belonged to a woman, its tone too sharp and making to do anything but tell Andrew he was right in coming here. That Neil’s monsters found him at last. He reaches for his knives as he leans forward to peer through the window and into the tower.

            What he finds is a middle-aged woman standing with her back to the glass plane and a bloodied Neil tied in a chair before her. She’s ranting and raving away about something Andrew can’t hear over the roar of his rage, but her hands wave about and reveal the knife she grips tightly in her right hand. Neil look pales as his eyes track the blade to and fro like he’s waiting for it to find its home in his flesh. More than it has, Andrew notes bitterly. Three long lines have already been carved into his right cheek, tearing that half of his face into a bloodied mess while his left has angry circles just under his eye.

            The monster in him roars and rages against his chest at the sight, urging him to lash out and _destroy_ instead of just standing there. Even more so when that knife stabs into Neil’s arm. The scream that tears from Neil’s lips echoes in the air around them, filling the once silent night with agony and pain. Andrew takes a step forward before he even realizes he’s done so.

            Neil’s eyes snap to his, Andrew catching the slight widening of his eyes before they rip away back to the woman, his skin notably paler. She’s too preoccupied with throwing her head back in a laugh to care. A hand drags along Neil’s ruined cheek and she coos at him, something low and twisted from the way Neil flinches at the touch. Andrew’s stomach twist with something dark and angry. He tightens his grip on the steel handle of his blade and promises that he will cut off that hand first.

            Catching Neil’s gaze once more, he brings a finger to his lips and takes another step forward. Neil shakes his head softly, mouthing the word no at him before Lola’s fingers dig into his flesh and tear out another scream. Not waiting for another second, Andrew ducks out of view and inches his way to his door as silently as his feet will allow. Luckily, or perhaps not, the door is kicked in, the frame in shambles and the slab of wood hanging on a single hinge. Andrew slips in quietly, sticking close to the shadows hiding him from view long enough to slip behind the bitch and drive his first knife into her back.

            She screeches, body arching backward as if trying to reach for the blade currently sticking out from the middle of her spine. Andrew gives her a hand a rips it out. She whirls around, eyes crazed with fury and her red-lined lips curled in a snarl.

            “You’ll pay for that,” she seethes.

            But Andrew is already moving, tackling her to the ground and stabbing the knife in the palm of her hand, pinning her there as he drives his fists into her face. She tries to buck him off but he pins his knees into her thighs and continues landing blow after blow, splitting his knuckles open on her teeth and painting his skin red. What he doesn’t expect is for her to yank her hand and the blade from the ground, using it to stab into his shoulder. The shock of pain is enough to slacken his hold enough for him to get a leg under him and kick him off of her.

            He tries to roll with the momentum, letting as much space grow between them before he rises to his feet and draws a second blade from his armbands. She attacks only seconds after he slips it free, her own knife slashing at the air before his chest as he leans away from the blade. He kicks out and drives her back half a step.

            “Who’s this Junior?” She laughs, demented and crazed as blood coats her teeth in a matching red shade of her now smeared lipstick. “A little boyfriend? Daddy would be so disappointed.”

            Neil, poor broken stupid Neil _laughs_. “Well good thing the bastards dead then.” A savage bloodied grin splits those lips. “Just like your fucking brother if I remember correctly. Did they catch him in that raid too? I hope he died slow.”

            She screeches, diving for him but Andrew gets there first, shoving her from the tied man and knocking them into the wall then the floor. They tumble and toss around, her nails and knife clawing against every inch of skin they catch while Andrew stabs a knife into her shoulder and then thigh, aiming for anywhere that will hurt and give him an advantage. Eventually, they scramble back towards Neil.

Too worried about crashing into the man, Andrew tries angling them away, giving her an opening to his already injured shoulder in the process. She wastes no time driving the blade into the wound, going so deep the blade sticks when she moves to pull it out. Andrew can’t help the scream that tears at his lips, but he swallows it as he drives a fist into her face and lands a kick to her stomach. He can hear Neil screaming his name, but adrenaline pumps a war beat in his ears until his world narrows to the blonde bitch and the hoarse bloody smile on her face as she staggers up.

            “I’m going to skin him alive, Junior. I will rip it off inch by inch _for hours_ and make you watch as I do. How sweet do you think his screams will be? I bet they won’t be as sweet as yours.”

She lunges for another strike, but Andrew just manages to stumble out of reach.

            “Fuck you,” Neil hisses. “I hope you burn in hell right alongside him. Alongside _both of them_.”

            “He’ll make the sweetest sounds, Junior. For hours and hours.”

            “You talk too fucking much,” Andrew growls, dodging another blow.

            “And you fucked the wrong boy toy!” She laughs

            When she lunges in again, Andrew lets her, waiting until the last second before twisting out of the way and bringing his last blade down on her neck. He’s not fast enough to dodge the blade entirely, the sharp edge cutting into the slide of his stomach, but his aim remains true as the steel knife embeds itself into her throat. The snarl dies and sputters on her lips as a hand flies up to stop the flow of blood seeping from the wound. Andrew uses the distractions to rip the blade out and knocks her away from him. She stumbles back, trying to distance herself as much as she can from Andrew. He stalks forward, the monster in him unwilling to let her escape. Footing unsure and wobbly, she retreats through the door and stumbles. Andrew reaches forward to catch her (if only so he could make the pain last a little longer) but she loses her balance and falls over the raining. Andrew watches as her body tumbles through the air and the thud of her body hitting the earth fills the air. It echoes softly before the silence swallows it whole and leaves only the quiet in its wake.

            Andrew stares down at the body before he turns his back to the railing and slides down, back resting against the wooden posts and head tipped back to the black sky. Wildlife crickets and murmurs softly around him mixing with his labored breathing and the frantic calls of his name coming from inside the tower. Andrew remains still, unable or rather unwilling to move just yet. The exhaustion of the day’s hiking in a combination of the rush of adrenaline leaving his system drains every ounce of reserve energy Andrew has been running on. The calling grows louder the longer he’s silent.

            “Andrew?” Desperation clings to Neil’s voice accompanied by the banging of chains against wood and harsh curses. “Don’t you dare be fucking dead. I’ll kill you myself if you are.”

            “How sweet of you to care,” Andrew retorts when he finds his voice again, pushing himself onto protesting knees.

            “Fuck, you’re okay.”

            Andrew’s knees disagree. His whole body in fact. “I think we need to work on your definition of okay.”

            Neil pauses. “Are you injured badly?”

            He thinks about that for a moment, categorizing the extent of his wounds from the fight. Scratches and small cuts adorn nearly every inch of his body, the worst of it being the stab wound on his shoulder and the cut to his stomach, but generally he’d say that most would be fine with some bandages and a few days rest.

            “Not overly so,” he answers.

            “Then okay is a pretty accurate of a term then.”

            Andrew staggers to the door and leans heavily in the frame, giving Neil his best glare. “Go fuck yourself, Josten.”

            A weak chuckle, “Can’t. I’m a little tied up at the moment.” He hears the rattling of chains as emphasis. “Besides, I thought _you_ wanted to be the one who did that.”

            Oh,  _now_ he flirts back after they almost get killed by some psycho. Andrew was in literal hell that’s the only way he could explain why this was his life.

            “Uh speaking of, do you think you could help me out of this chair? My butt is getting numb.”

            Literal. Hell.

            Pulling at the last dregs of his energy (and slightly to make the snark bastard wait) Andrew stumbles his way over to Neil. When he stands over the man, he quickly assesses the damage before he even tries to touch anything. From what he can tell, the worst of the damage is to his face with the three long gashes and what Andrew can now see are circular burn marks marring either side, but his arms are a close second with intricate patterns of slashes and burns interwoven in some methodical design reaching from elbows to knuckles. His shirt is a bloodied mess, but Andrew can’t tell if its from the wounds on his face and arms or something he can’t see.

            “Not exactly how I planned to meet you,” Neil weakly jokes. “I definitely planned to have showered first.”

            “Shut up,” Andrew bites out because Neil is hurt and bleeding and he’s fucking _joking_. Andrew hates him — hates every inch of his being so much he thinks it’s going to burn him alive. If the anger at almost being too late didn’t burn him first.

            “Can’t, the blood loss really loosens my lips beyond control.” A pause. “Well, more so than usual.”

            Andrew crowds closer so he looms over Neil’s crumpled form. “Shut. Up.”

            He sighs, “Will do, just get me out of these first.” His voice tightens, threatening to crack on the last word.

            The chains rattle as Neil lifts his hands from behind his back, only to weakly clatter against the wooden back when he couldn’t hold them up for long. Andrew places a hand on his shoulder to stop him from moving and leans over to inspect what can be done. The metal cuffs around Neil’s wrist tell him not much.

            “I can’t pick those.”

            “What?” Neil twists his head to meet Andrew’s eye but the movement pulls sharply at his cheek causing him to wince. Andrew steps back so he’s firmly in view.

            “I can’t pick handcuffs.”

            “You’re joking.”

            He wasn’t.

            “Oh god, you’re not.” Neil huffs a laugh.

            Andrew levels him win an unimpressed look. “When would I have had an opportunity to learn, Neil?”

            “You were in juvie!”

            “It’s not like they offer classes on how to pick locks. They’re trying to _reform_ you, not make you a better criminal. Lock picking is detrimental to that mindset.”

            “Lock picking is a useful skill!”

            “For criminals and runaways.”

            Neil opens his mouth and Andrew shakes his head, already starting to walk away.

            “Hey! Where are you going??”

            “To get the key off the bitch’s body.”

            “Oh. You don’t need to do that.” He nods his head towards the desk. “I have a lock picking set in my left pocket. If you’d just hand that to me I can do it.”

            Andrew stops. “Why am I not surprised, you can pick handcuffs _and_ have a lock picking set on your person.”

            Neil gives him a bloody and smug grin. “You did say it’s a still for criminals and runaways.”

            Andrew is unamused.

            “Oh come on, you have to admit that was a good one.”

            The look on Andrew’s face tells him exactly what he thought about that one. He doubles back and reaches for Neil’s pant pocket, fingers finding the warm metal of a set of lock picks that he quickly dumps into Neil’s awaiting palm. Watching with mild interest, Andrew steadies Neil with a hand on his shoulder as he peers around him to observe those long fingers make quick work of the lock despite the way the movements tugs at the skin of the cuts. When the cuffs clatter to the ground, Andrew plucks the picks from his grasp and slides them into his own pocket.

            Once he’s sure that Neil’s steady enough in the chair that he won’t fall over himself now that he’s not tied, Andrew trails a hand down his arm until he can inspect the angry lines across the limb. They are precise and made to hurt at every little twist, but (thankfully) weren’t deep. The burns were another story. His mouth flatted in a line as he counts the number of circles burned black into the flesh. Some overlap.

            “Cigarette lighter,” Neil whispers, eyes trained on the same group of circles Andrew stared at.

            “I should have pushed the bitch over the rails,” he growls.

            Neil chuckles. “You really should have.”

            Andrew watches as Neil’s lips curve up slightly, even as his eyes squeeze shut against the pain. He is a bloody and broke mess but int his moment he’s the most beautiful think Andrew has ever seen in his life. A picture of survival despite life trying its damnedest to pull him under. Neil had clawed his way to life too many times for it bury or break him — laughing in its face while he did. Andrew wanted to kiss that grin off his face and swallow the laughter until it filled him.

            Instead, he rests a hand on the back of his neck and gently runs a thumb under his jaw. “Where’s the first aid kit?”

            Neil hums, leaning into Andrew’s touch (he ignores the flutter of satisfaction that races through him at the movement). “Under the sink. Big red case that you can’t miss.”

            Andrew rubs his thumb a few more times, the steady beat of his pulse assuring him that Neil was alive and (mostly) well. That he made it on time. Neil nuzzled closer into his palm. He lets them stay like that until his body starts sagging in the chair and his breaths start evening out. While Andrew’s own body protests any further movement, patching Neil up if he fell asleep would be more of a hassle than its worth.

            He gently pushes the man back up and murmurs that he’ll be right back. Quickly crossing the room for the sink, he throws on the tap and wets a towel at the same time he yanks open the cabinet for the first aid kit. Grabbing both, he walks back to Neil and sets the kit at their feet. Silence fills the room as Andrew washes the blood from Neil’s skin, his hands gentle and slow as he avoids aggravating any of the wounds further to the best of his abilities. Once most of the blood is gone from his face, neck, and arms, he starts covering the cuts and burns with creams and ointments to numb the pain before he bandages them with a roll of gauze. The cuts on his cheeks most likely need stitches but Andrew didn’t think Neil could stay away long enough for him to attempt them so he slathered them with cream before plastering a large bandage over them for now.

            The entire time Neil would murmur quiet instructions as if he was only too familiar with patching himself up. From the way his shirt dipped below his collar bone to reveal a myriad of scars just in that small space tells Andrew he just might be. When he’s done, he helps Neil hobbles from the chair to the bed, letting the man practically collapse on the mattress as the last of his energy and adrenaline leave his system. Andrew plops onto the foot of the bed, feeling the sentiment.

            “I think you owe me the truth now,” he starts.

            Neil winces and this time not from his wounds. Andrew waits.

            “You’re right.” He sighs and runs a bandaged hand through his hair. “But maybe we should deal with Lola’s body first? … And probably call this whole thing in if we can get through to anybody.”

            Andrew gives him a look. “You’re dead on your feet and I am _not_ burying a dead body by myself.”

            “I’m-”

            “If you finish that sentence with fine, I’m going to throw _you_ off the tower.”

            Neil wisely shuts up.

            “Now, the truth, Neil. I won’t ask again.”

            Those eyes find his and Andrew notices for the first time how blue they are. And how they swim with what Andrew thinks is guilt and remorse. But he could less about either of those things right now. Andrew turns away until his eyes stare at the wall opposite of them. He just wanted the truth, then he would decide what to do with Neil after.

            Closing his eyes, and turning his face towards the ceiling, Neil starts spilling the last of his truths. He explains that his mother and he didn’t just capture the Butcher of Baltimore’s attention when they ran, his father _was_ the Butcher. He tells him of a childhood filled with knives and pain and lessons to be just as much of a monster as his father so he could take over the “family business.” He chronicles how his men hunted them down for years no matter how far or fast they ran. He confesses that when his mother died, he called his uncle in London who wanted to take him away but how he refused because his mother never wanted that life for him. He whispers how he thought he was safe when his father died in an FBI raid and brought down his empire. He recalls the early years after his father’s death when he slowly started letting himself build a life with a home, a job, and people he could call friends and family.

 Then he explains how Lola managed to track him down. How she cut the powerlines and then surprised him in the tower when Andrew was trying to get his attention. How he tried to say goodbye to Andrew the only way he could so he didn’t think Neil just abandoned him (never that).

            Andrew listens to all of this in silence, not interrupting once even as Neil’s voice fades over time until it drops away to silence. When his breathing becomes deep and even, Andrew knows that he’s fallen asleep at last. Only then does he allow himself to look at Neil.

            He is more bandage than man at this point and his shirt is still a bloodied torn mess but he looks almost like a child — his face smooth and free of the worry or pain that etched into his features not moments before. His mouth hangs open slightly and his hair flopped over his eyes in complete disarray that makes Andrew just want to run his hand through it. He doesn’t. Instead, he focuses on the steady rise and fall of his chest and lets each breath tell him that Neil was alive alive alive and safe. It is almost enough to settle the war beat in his chest and stop him from storming downstairs and ripping Lola apart limb from limb to satisfy some dark primal need to _hurt_.

            When he begins twitching from the need, he occupies his mind by looking around Neil’s tower. The window at his left is broken, most likely from where Lola had trashed Neil’s tower and thrown his things out into the field but the mess spreads throughout the entire room, glass and clutter knocked around every surface in signs of a fight. The sight makes the need burn hotter so he tears his eyes away and to the photo wall Neil tacked up on the wall above his bed. He runs his eyes over the small polaroids depicting everything from mountains and trees to a small apartment. He sees pictures of Neil sandwiched between a tall dark couple with matching grins and a tiny one on Neil’s lips. There is another with a tall blonde resting an elbow on a surly Neil’s head even though he could see the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. They are living proof that Neil Josten was alive and real — that the lie he had started out as slowly became the truth.

            He is about to turn away when a large sheet of paper catches his eye. When he turns to face it head on, his own face stares back at him or what could pass as his face. The nose is off and his hair is longer than how he normally wears it, but it’s him nonetheless. A cigarette dangles from his lips and his eyes stare directly at him with a blank expression he remembers telling Neil about. But something’s off about those eyes, a hint of something lurks beneath their glassy depth, something only explained by the faint quirk of the right corner of his mouth in a barely there smile. It looks foreign on his face that he wonders what Neil could have possibly been thinking of drawing him with such an expression. But even so, he stares at that faint fragile little smile and can’t help but think that he wanted that. Wanted Neil.

            His eyes fall to Neil’s sleeping form, and he feels the last pieces of the puzzle settle into place. He digs into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes and lights one up as he waits for Neil to awake.

 

* * *

 

            Neil wakes an hour before midnight, nearly four hours after he passed out from exhaustion and shock. Andrew burned through two more cigarettes in that time and was on the last few drags of his thirds when Neil twitches awake. If he had not been staring intensely at the boy he might have missed the change, how his breathing hitched before resuming its slow and deep breaths mimicking slumber.

            “Your name is Neil Josten. We’re in Thorofare Lookout Tower in Wyoming.” He stubs out the cigarette. “You’re safe.”

            The tension seems to bleed from Neil’s body as he sags in relief with a steady sigh. Those bandaged hands come to tug at his hair but the movement must be enough to aggravate his wounds because he stops halfway with a wince.

            “Andrew?” he asks groggily, seemingly not learning from the first move as he tries pushing himself up on his elbows.

            Andrew crosses the room to the bed in an instant, pressing down on the idiot's shoulder before he could hurt himself more. “Who else would it be?”

            “But you’re…” he pauses seemingly lost in thought. “You’re here.”

            It’s as if something clicked in that foggy mind of his because his eyes go wide as he scrambles into a seated position, pain and Andrew be damned in the realization that Andrew was _here_ and not some disembodied voice through the radio.

            “ _You’re here_.”

            He says it like an impossibility like somehow the words were never meant to be together and yet were and they tasted gloriously on his tongue like prayer and promise.

            Andrew knows this because they taste the same on his. “I’m here.”

            A low whine sticks in Neil’s throat as his hands shoot out to grasp and hold Andrew as if touch alone could cement him in reality. But seconds before they can touch his skin, they hesitate, unsure if he was allowed to cross that final distance — unsure if he was _worthy_ to.

            What a beautifully stupid idiot. Because that fact alone meant he was worthier than everyone else who had laid hand on Andrew’s body before (including himself) and because Andrew has never been able to deny Neil anything before. He takes those hands as gently as someone like him is able to and brings them to his hair and neck, giving them a light squeeze before dropping away.

            _Just there_ , that squeeze said.

            Neil’s fingers tangle in the soft tufts of hair at his neck and he pulled them slowly together (slow enough for Andrew to pull away if he needed to) so their foreheads rested together. Those blue eyes slid shut and Andrew resisted the urge to nudge them open just so he could stare at them.

            “You’re here,” Neil whispers.

            In reply, Andrew raises his own hands to the back of Neil’s neck and squeezes firmly. _I’m here_ , it said.

            Neil chuckles, a beautiful broken thing.

            Andrew brings them impossibly closer. “I want to kiss you, yes or no?”

            Those eyes shoot open in a shock of blue as they search Andrew’s with something akin to wonder.

            “Yes or no?” he repeats.

            “Yes.”

            Their lips surge together, all caution thrown to the wind as their hands tug the other closer and fingers curls themselves in auburn and blonde to reassure that this was real and that they were safe and alive. They kiss until their lungs burn for oxygen and force them apart but only far enough so their lips part with their foreheads still resting against one another and their noses slide together. Hot puffs of air intermingle between the liver of their lips as they try to calm their hearts threating to beat through their chests.

            Neil is the first to speak. “So our date is still on then?”

            Andrew pulls back, eyes slanting into a glare at the wide smile curling on Neil’s lips so brightly it’s almost too hard to look at him. Andrew pushes his face away.

            “I’ll think about it.”

            But he already knew the answer to that.

 

* * *

 

            The loud screech of tape fills the room as Andrew seals the last box shut. He looks around the empty space once last time before eying the stack of boxes at his feet waiting to be moved to the car. His apartment lies empty around him, the rest of his things having already been shipped over or donated to the local shelter for other people to bother with. Still, he grimaces at the small stack and wills them to make the two-flight-descent on their own. When they don’t, he growls and picks up the first box.

            Four trips later, he loads the last of the boxes into the back seat of his car. He slams the door closed and moves toward the driver side when his phone goes off in his pocket. Tempted to let it go straight to voicemail, he pulls it out in case it’s Neil calling about something or another, but when he sees the familiar but not forgotten number from his past flash on his screen his thumb hesitates. Even mores o when he recognizes the Oakland area code.

            He taps accept. “What the fuck do you want Pig.”

            “Ah, Andrew, the same as ever I see,” Higgins laughs good-naturedly. “Life’s been treating you well on the East Coast then?”

            Andrew tenses, “Fuck the platitudes and small talk. I told you to never call me again.”

            All humor drains from Higgin’s voice. “I know.”

            “And yet here you are.”

            “Here I am.” His tone is almost remorseful.

            “Why.” He asks, but he already knows the answer. After all, there is only one reason why Pig Higgins would call him nearly 8 years after he last step foot in that godforsaken city.

            “You know why Andrew.”

            His stomach drops and his muscle tense up. “I’m hanging up.”

            “He’s dead, Andrew.” He freezes, phone still at his ear but his knuckles now white from how hard they gripped it. Higgins continues. “They found him last night, tied to a chair in an empty warehouse mutilated beyond recognition if not for the fact that they nailed his driver’s license to his chest.”

            He pauses. “Along with a DVD of him confessing everything he’s ever done to the kids that came into that house.”

            Andrew doesn’t say anything — his mind too preoccupied with the bomb Pig Higgins had dropped. He’s dead he’s dead he’s dead.

            Flashes of that dark bedroom and too big hands hold him down while a body presses him into the mattress again and again.

            He’s dead he’s dead he’s dead he’s dead.

Cass’s kitchen tainted by a shadow lingering in the archway. Stained sheets he frantically washed in the dead of night so she wouldn’t know. Long sleeves hiding red lines cut into his skin just so he could _feel_ something.

            Deaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeadeadead

            “Andrew-”

“I don’t fucking care. Don’t call me again.”

            He hangs up and resists the urge to hurl the phone on the ground and crush it beneath his foot.

            _He’s dead._

            The monster of his childhood and the one that still haunts his dreams at night was _dead_ and Andre didn’t know what to do about that.

            Neil walks over with two bags of fast food gripped in one hand with the other occupied by a tray of drinks. “Hey, I know you said you weren’t hungry, but I got you a milkshake and some fries just in case.”

            He halts the moment his eyes lift up and notice the stiff set of Andrew’s shoulders and the white-knuckled grip he still has on his phone. His eyes shoot around for the threat, sweeping over every surface and possible vantage point before settling back on Andrew when nothing catches his eye.

            “What’s wrong?”

            Andrew turns to him then, eyes looking into those blue blue orbs for the truth he already knew. _He will be_ , Neil had said months ago, voice steeled with conviction and a low simmering rage. _He will be_. Andrew just thinks he made good on that promise. (For some reason it loosens the tension in him.)

            “I just got an interesting phone call from Oakland PD.”

            Neil’s face shuts down, the blank slate of a mask falling over his features in an instant, all but confirming Andrew’s suspicions. “Oh? What would they want?”

            Andrew levels him with an unimpressed look. “I think you know exactly what they wanted.”

            He is silent, those blue eyes strong and steady as they meet Andrew’s. “I’m not sorry.”

            He wasn’t; Andrew knew that. Just like he wasn’t sorry for Lola. Still…

            “I didn’t need your help.”

            “I wasn’t helping you,” Neil shakes his head stepping close into Andrew’s space, just slightly. “I was keeping my promise.”

            The phone drops from his grip and clatters to the floor at the same time he closes the space between them with a hand on Neil’s neck.

            “Yes or no?”

            “Yes.”

            They crash together, teeth clattering and nose bumping together imperfectly but he could have cared less. The taste of Neil’s lips on his tongue washes away the last of the lingering thoughts of Drake and fills his head with Neil Neil Neil. His hands tangle in auburn curls as he tugs their mouths closer, licking his way into Neil’s mouth. Neil’s hands remain firmly in the air, food still dangling in their grips carefully avoiding Andrew’s skin since he hadn’t received permission to touch (Andrew’s chest tightens at the image).

            When he breaks away, he snags the milkshake from the tray. “95%”

            Neil laughs, slightly dazed and pupils blown wide. “Even when I brought fries?”

            Andrew looks to the bag. “96%”

            The laugh that fills the air is loud and bright. “You’re such an asshole. I don’t know why I’m moving in with you.”

            “Because you’re a trouble magnet and it’s a miracle you survived this long.”

            Neil snorts, “I think I did pretty okay.”

            “You’re also an idiot.”

            Andrew moves to open the driver side door, sliding in before Neil can retort. Of course, only until he can slide into the passenger seat. “Better than a surly asshole.”

            He raises an eyebrow. “Of the two of us, only one has ever been referred to as surly.”

            Neil huffs, “Damn Matt.”

He settles into the seat and locks his seatbelt in place. Andrew shifts the car into reverse and pulls out of the parking lot. The silence only lasts until they reach the freeway.

            “Say,” Neil continues, “Am I ever going to get to read your book now that it’s going to be published soon?”

            Ah yes, the book Andrew somehow managed to write in the summer months between murder and talking with a certain idiot. It took him nearly three months after he got back home to write everything in a more coherent form, but when it was done he felt something like satisfaction as he stared down at the nearly three hundred page novel on his computer. He didn’t really know what to do with it once he was done, so he sent it to Bee (mainly just to rub it in her face that he used the stupid typewriter). What he expected, he didn’t know, but the tears in Bee's eyes when she finished and the soft request to pass it along to a publisher were far from the outcomes Andrew expected. He shrugged his indifference and forgot about it until a woman called him a month later offering him a deal to publish the story into a novel. Apparently, they liked it enough to offer him a deal that extends for a couple more books if he was interested.

            Neil had been ecstatic for him and incredibly nosy. He wanted to know what the book was about since Andrew refused to show him or even talk about it. Then again how could he admit that the entire thing was about him? About two boys stuck lost in the world waiting for the world to burn only to find some semblance of hope in the scarred form of the other? No, better off letting him speculate.

            “No,” Andrew replies easily.

            Neil frowns, folding his arms across his chest. “Why not? I’m just going to be able to buy it in a few months anyway.”

            “Guess you’ll have to wait then.”

            “Ass,” he bites back, but Andrew can hear the smile. “Yes or no?”

            He holds his hand over the center console, fingers spread for Andrew to slot his together. Andrew doesn’t bother with answering, simply twining them together and bringing the back of Neil’s palm to his lips, holding it there for a few seconds because he can and no one is around to see otherwise.

            “I’m just going to steal the manuscript when you’re not looking, you know that right?”

            He’s such a little shit.

            “97%”

            Laughter fills the car and Andrew tighten his grip on Neil’s hand. But he’s his.

            He turns his attention back to the road and drives to their new home, for once not worried about the silence that awaits him.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I somehow lost a version of this so bear with me as I search for it in the next day or two and probably make some minor changes here or there (but nothing major I promise!)
> 
> Let me just say that this fic was both super fun to write and an absolute pain. I'm not sure if this semester was busier than last or what, but I had such a hard time writing under the pressure of a deadline. Thankfully it's done and I'm pretty satisfied with how it turned out. That being said, I will not be joining the next Big Bang. I think I need to write under my own schedule for a while. 
> 
> Come scream at me on [Tumblr](http://thebashfulpoet.tumblr.com/)!


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